The Fall
by Bluejay141519
Summary: "Yeah well, Jay has never been good with dealing with things. Particularly death." Depending know much you love him, major character death. Prequel to I Am Intelligence. Just some fun Jay!Whump with Linstead and family Intelligence.
1. Scar Tissue

_**For Paul.**_

* * *

The breath gurgles in Will's throat and blood spills out of his mouth. The panic consumes me, making my body go numb. I shudder through a breath of my own, gasping on the thick air.

He doesn't talk. He doesn't need to. The fear in my brothers eyes is enough. I want to believe he will make it to tomorrow. But the blood flowing from his abdomen doesn't stop, and it soaks through my fingers, covering my arms and pooling on the floor. I know.

We both do.

"Jay-" My name slips from his mouth in a barely audible whisper, along with more blood that belongs inside his body. My name and blood. Always together.

_Always together._

"Shut up." I say when he tries my name again.

"Just shut up. You're not going anywhere. Not yet. It's not-" My voice breaks as my throat becomes painfully tight.

I choke on the words.

"_It's not fair!" _

He just stares. And then he whispers an apology.

A god damn apology.

My heart shatters and guilt fills the void. There is so much I want to tell him, but my brain seems to have disconnected from my vocal cords and the words stick inside me and settle like a bowling ball in my stomach. His eyes flutter and the words suddenly flow from my lips, the need to let him know, _to make him see._

"I'm sorry Will. I'm so sorry, I thought-" Tears stream down my face as I stop. I thought? I thought what? That this wouldn't happen?

"-_I thought I had more time."_ The blood pulses slower beneath my fingers. I'm just about hyperventilating now, my breaths coming in gasps.

"I should have protected you, I should have done something, I'm your older brother…I should have protected you." My ramblings end in a whisper and I shift closer to him, trying to protect him from death with my sheer presence.

His eyes start to get this faraway look and I know this is it.

I'm sobbing now, as I say my final words to him.

"_No matter where we go. No matter where we are. We will always be brothers."_

The light fades from his world and mine. And as the blood stops pumping from his chest, just seeps out onto the cold tile, i realize a truth.

I never wanted this.

I never wanted him here, in Chicago. In my life, with me and dad and I knew it would hurt him.

Hurt us.

I knew I would destroy him, as I do with everything else on my life.

And I did. Now hes gone. Which leaves me alone.

A good friend of mine told me after my mothers death that "We can shape our destiny, but never can we change our fate."

I believe her.

_I_ have shaped my life this way. _I_ have been apart of my brothers fate. _I _can now see mine.

Pain and death follows me. No matter how fast or far I go it will always be there. Next to me, with me, bound to me. It will only leave once I have gone. I was supposed to go first Will. I was. Not you.

A scream rips through the my body, echoing in the empty apartment.

_I'm so sorry Will._

"_**We will always be brothers."**_

* * *

**This is all because I just went and saw Furious 7 and they did and amazing tribute to Paul Walker. If you haven't seen it, I strongly encourage you to do so. I cried. It was beautiful.**


	2. Otherside

**Sorry. I fixed it.**

* * *

**Olinski's P.O.V.**

We found him the next morning.

Erin had noticed first. Voight had put it out there. And when he didn't answer his phone we called again. And again. Had mouse track it and found it to still be at his house. So we called Will.

When neither of them picked up, the whole unit volunteered to go check Jay's apartment.

The door was wide open, but the door frame was still intact, it didn't look like someone kicked it in. Still, nobody, _especially_ not a cop, leaves their door open.

I'm in front, walking next to Lindsay, who is speculating on why the brothers were M.I.A. She pulls her gun.

"Al." she whispers. I follow her gaze to the open doorway. All conversation stops as we spread across the narrow hallway, falling into basic formation, guns drawn. Ruzek moves in first and we all silently file into the seemingly empty living space.

Seemingly.

Erin splits from me to check the bedroom, I go head towards the dark kitchen area. A chorus of 'clears' echo in my ears. They flood back to my position when I fail to respond. Well, whaddya want? 'Clear' really doesn't describe the scene in front of me.

Horrible. Terrifying. Shocking. Those would work.

Dead would work too.

Voight steps next to me for a better view. His shoulders drop and he shakes his head, walking away. I've known him long enough that that's his version of showing guilt and anger. Ruzek follows him, looking like he might throw up. I can't blame him.

Jay is on his knees in a pool of blood, bent over the body of his brother. His hands and forearms are covered in more of the thick red liquid. Will's shirt is soaked in it, as is Jay's. Jay had to have been holding Will when he died for that amount of blood to transfer onto him.

This fact shakes me out of my shell shocked state. Holstering my gun, I move forward slowly, and crouch next to Halstead. Movement on the other side of him alerts me to Antonio doing the same.

"Jay?" I whisper softly. Dawson and I share a look when he doesn't acknowledge our presence. I am sure my face reflects that that Tony wears. Sorrow, anger and fear.

"Jay." I try again, louder this time. Gently, I place a hand on his shoulder. His muscles are so tense it feels as though he is made of iron. His eyes are hard to see, as he keeps his gaze on his fallen brother.

"Jay, he's gone." The words seem like I said them much louder than a whisper, as though they are too large and barbaric for this moment. Jay closes his eyes and finally responds.

"I know." The amount of anguish and guilt in his voice takes my breath away. Some part of me is relieved he isn't catatonic, but honestly, just because he's talking doesn't mean he's doing much better.

"What-" Antonio has to pause to swallow as his voice breaks.

"What happened?"

Jay opens his eyes, staring down at the hole in Wills chest.

"He shot him."

"Who did Jay?" The cop in me kicks in suddenly, and I'm all business. Possibilities swirl around my head. Was this an old enemy of Jays? Of Wills? Maybe a message to all of intelligence, that they could hit us where it hurts? But who is 'they'? Was any of this even planned? There are too many questions, and none of them I can answer.

"The guy." I almost miss Halstead's response.

"What guy?"

"He had a mask. I didn't know. I just saw the door. And he was-" Jays voice breaks off in a sob.

I move over to the right of Will, so I'm directly across from the living portion of the Halstead brothers. This gives me better access to see Jay. His face is blank and emotionless. He is shutting down, closing in on himself in an effort to remain functional. As a soldier, in a war I know this is necessary. If you grieve during a firefight, your dead. So you push it down. Suppress, express, repress.

But this is not war, this is his brother. And if Jay doesn't deal with this, if he doesn't grieve, this death will destroy him.

"what happened to the guy." A shadow falls over his face, and for a split second I can identify traces anger.

"Jay, what happened to the man that killed Will?"

"He's dead." There is no change in his voice, no show of satisfaction or regret. He still refuses to look at me, or anyone else for that matter. I wonder if he even believes we are real or just thinks we are some hallucination created by his brain to help him cope.

"Did you kill him?" Antonio speaks up, as though reminding us he is still there.

"Yes." Jays whispers in a cold, hoarse voice. A cough shakes his body and he wipes a blood stained hand across his mouth afterwards. It comes away looking wet, but that may be because Will's blood never dried.

Nodding to Dawson, we agree it time to separate the two. Holding his dead brothers body isn't going to help Jay in any way, shape,or form. Antonio gently grips his arm.

"C'mon kid. Let's stand up." I'm about to take his other arm, when he snaps his head up, taking his gaze away from his brother for the first time. The breath catches in my throat as I'm assaulted by the amount of rage in his eyes. It mixes with unbearable guilt and drowning sorrow, swirling together to form a hurricane of inner destruction.

He goes back to staring at Will. I sigh.

"Jay-" Faster than I thought humanly possible, Halstead pulls a gun from nowhere, cocks it, and points it between my eyes.

As much as I want him out of here, away from the mess of the apartment, I'm not stupid enough to touch anybody that agitated. The message is evident in his face-_'Do it. I got nothing to lose.'_

Spreading my hands wide in a gesture of peace and Antonio lets go of his arm before doing the same.

Jay looks up again.

"Stay away from me." I've never heard his voice that cold.

"Halstead-" I try again, but he just escalates more. Standing abruptly, he stumbles backwards screaming.

_**"STAY AWAY FROM ME!"  
**_  
I jump up with him, using one hand to push the gun down, so if he shoots, it hits the floor. I use the other hand to grab the back of his jacket, and pull him into a one-armed hug.

"It's okay, Jay. It's okay. You're gonna be okay." I whisper the words to him as he finally breaks. He loosens his grip on the gun. I pull it from his grasp and silently stick it out behind me, where Antonio takes it. Tremors shake Halstead's weak frame and as I use my other arm to make it a real hug, they turn to full out sobs. My shirt soon becomes soaked where his head lies.

Maybe five minutes later (which is not long enough in my opinion) he quiets. I relax my iron grip and step back, keeping my hands on his shoulders.

"C'mon, let's get out of here." He nods, sniffing pitifully. We walk together out of the kitchen, past a shell-shocked Erin. Her hand is over her mouth, and her wide eyes shed waterfalls of tears. She must have watched the entire thing. Lindsay was the only one whom had met Will and was the one who suggested we call him.

Thinking we didn't need two emotionally destroyed detectives, I touch her arm. She jumps, then looks to me, waiting for orders, fear coloring her features.

"Bring him outside." I motion to her partner who is trying to memorize the floor boards. Erin nods and takes Jay's arm, leading him out the door.

Swallowing my own feelings, I walk over to Voight, Antonio, and Ruzek.

"What's up?" I ask, confused by the looks they were giving me.

"We found a body in the bedroom. It looks like the reason this place was trashed was because of what musta been a hell of a fight between the perp and Halstead." Ruzek explains.

"The body is the guy who killed Will?" I question.

"Yup." Voight confirms before continuing. "It looks like he died by head trauma. There was a bloody towel rod next to him. Jay literally beat him to death."

"But he didn't know Will was gonna die at that point." I say, uncertain.

Voight harrumphs.

"It's a lot better than what I would've done."

* * *

**Woah. Did I just write that? Ehe. Sorry Bubbly. So I'll try for chapter three tomorrow, but no promises. (I have to clean my house. Spring cleaning is upon us.) Oh yes and- _The more reviews I get, the less likely it is I'll kill someone else._**

**In case you needed motivation.**

**BlueJay out.**


	3. Porcelain

**I should have put this in the first chapter but I hope its obvious to everybody I don't own Chicago P.D. or its characters. Probably a good thing for Jay's sake.**

* * *

**Erin's P.O.V.**

I've never seen Jay cry. I just thought it wasn't possible. Like he was like Voight. Yes, they get enraged, but sadness? Despair? You'd never see it. You would just see the determination to move on or get revenge on the cause. And then move on.

But I can't see that. Not today. No, today is the day Will Halstead died. And Jay Halstead watched it happen.

There is no determination in his face, there is nothing left of him. I can see the inner turmoil consuming him, stealing away the partner I care for.

Jay is broken. And I fear nothing will be able to put him back together. Not even me.

This scares me more than anything I have ever known. When he pointed that gun at Al, it was a message to us. There is nothing left for him, so why should he care what happens?

"You're wrong." I say as he stumbles out of the flat.

"What?"

"You're wrong. You aren't alone." The words fall from my mouth harsher than I intended.

He smiles, but there is no happiness behind it. More like angry amusement.

"Really? And why is that? Because I have _you_?!" He just about spits the words at me. _You know Erin, getting him angry may not be the best idea right now…_

"But I don't have you Erin. Remember? You told me I wasn't good enough, just like everyone else I've ever cared for." He pauses. "You just like them. You don't _care._"

Ooh. Ouch. That hurt.

My eyes find the floor. I know why hes doing this, its a defense mechanism. You hurt so you hurt others, so that they may feel like you. If you're lucky they leave you alone to sink deeper into the pain. I understand this is what he wants, to lose himself.

"I _do_ care." We look at each other, when I speak. For a split second fear flashes in his empty blue eyes. Fear? Why would he be afraid of-

My thought cut out as the rest of the unit exit his house. We start toward the elevators. After about three steps of Jay struggling to stay upright, Ruzek ends up grabbing one arm and half dragging him into the metal box. He leans against the wall and shuts his eyes, taking deep shuddering breaths. My heart feels heavy.

The ride down is silent, and we exit, forming a tight protective circle around Halstead. It's not until we are in the Escalade with Voight and Antonio do I ask where we are going.

"My place." is all Hank answers. I catch his eye in the mirror, asking a million questions at once. He glances at Jay then back to me in a look that says _Not here._ I nod in agreement.

...

At some point during the drive home, Jay fell asleep. And I mean like, _fell asleep._ An atomic bomb could have gone off next to him and he probably wouldn't have even stirred. Ruzek and Dawson carry him inside the house and plop him down in Justin's old room.

"Somebody's gotta watch him." Olinski speaks.

"I will." Without a second thought I grab a stool and start to maneuver it to his bedside when a hand stops me.

"Hank-" I begin and he once again cuts me off.

"No. We need to talk. Down stairs. Ruzek can stay." Adam nods, taking the little bench from me, I head down stairs. A few minutes later we are sitting in a circle in the living room, coffee in hand. Dawson sits next to me, Hank and Al stand across from us. There is silence for a moment, then Antonio pops the question.

"What are we going to do?" We just kinda stare at him, trying to process some answer. I guess he takes it as a 'What-are-you-talking-about?' because he continues.

"I mean, we can't do this by the books. Jay killed that guy before his brother was dead. A prosecutor could make the case he killed him in cold blood. He could lose his badge. Or worse."

Again, we all just look at each other trying to form a plan. Of course, Voight comes up with one first.

"We call it in."

"_What?!"_ I hiss at him. He puts his hands out in a non-threatening gesture.

"Now hear me out. We call it in. Tell them the truth. We went there because we could not contact a member of our team. We found him with his brother who was dead. When they ask why Jay isn't there, we say we took him in to get cleaned up. That's it." I find myself nodding along with the plan. short and sweet. If we all have the same story, adding our own emotion when telling it, nobody's gonna think other wise.

"But what about the body? He still killed him." Antonio points out the one flaw.

"Killed him in self defense. The robber was going to kill Jay, so Jay killed him. Play it off with fear and adrenaline, and no jury will find him guilty."Al responds in a quiet voice.

I stand up. "I'll go tell Ruzek."

"Hey, hold up." Hank voice makes me freeze. He looks around the room, nodding slightly, as though agreeing with words not yet spoken.

"Nothing-and I mean _nothing_\- happens to him without us saying its ok. Got it?" I'm about to respond when a blood curling scream sounds from upstairs. There is a chorus of glass shattering as we drop our mugs of caffeine and sprint upstairs.

"_What happened to him?! What did you do?!" _Jay is screaming, crouched in a defensive position with a bloody piece of glass in his hand. Adam if standing in front of him, both hands out, trying to calm him.

"Jay I didn't-" Ruzek talks, taking a step forward.

Mistake number one.

Halstead reacts, flinging the piece of glass at us. It somehow spins the right way so that it sticks in the wallboard next to Adams head. He steps back.

Jay reaches back and pulls out another piece, long and jagged. It cuts into his hand with ease, making blood drip to the floor. _What the heck did he do? stock up the last time he went to the hardware store?! _

His chest heaves, and he looks like he's barely able to stay up right. The slight crouch hes in seems less like a choice and more like a "If-I-fall-it-won't-be-as-far" position.

"I told you. _I told you!_" He screams again, to no one in particular.

I speak in a calm voice, despite the panic and horror building inside me.

"Told us what, Jay?"

Mistake number two.

I guess he doesn't want to hear my voice because another piece of glass flies toward us. He immediately reloads but I can tell its his last weapon because he holds it differently. More securely, like its his life line. And in his delusional state, that weapon, for him, probably is.

"I told you to _**STAY AWAY FROM ME!" **_Jay's voice starts low and escalated to a screech and he surges forward. We lunge to meet him.

Mistake number three.

Antonio catches loops his arms around Halstead's mid-section from behind and holds his ground. Jay stumbles back with the added weight and they both go to the ground. Halstead's head connects with the floor in a sickening crack.

That's when all hell breaks lose.

Faster than I've ever seen _anybody _move he throws and elbow into Antonio's face, making Dawson loose his grip. Jay roles over and throws a fist into his temple. He's out like a light.

Ruzek and Olinski had moved forward with Antonio. So while Adam had managed to grab Halstead's arm with the glass, he had also become the next target. In one swift motion, Jay slides the glass down the rookies arm, splitting it open. As he looks down at the wound, Jay wraps one arm behind Ruzek's neck and pulls his head down onto Jay's upcoming knee. Adam crumples.

Without stopping Halstead drops and swing a leg out behind him, effectively bringing Olinski to the ground. Voight by this time had gotten over his shock at the turn of events and rushed forward to help his long time friend. He gets there too late, Jay has already delivered a punch to the head, rendering Al unconscious. Hank puts him in a choke-hold. Halstead shoots straight up and claws at the arms keeping him captive. That's about where Voights advantage ends because suddenly Jay to close to a wall and literally, (I'm not making this up. It would have been the coolest thing had the situation been different) _runs up the wall._

Yah. That's what I said.

So he flips over Hanks head, forcing him to break the choke-hold. Mr. Spiderman then slams a hand onto Voight neck, on a pressure point I think, and his sergeant falls to the floor with the rest of his men.

Then my partner turns to me.

You've go to understand, there was no pausing between any of these moves. It all happened in less than a minute. My brain can't process shit that fast so I'm just standing there trying to remember how to breath like O_o.

Really. Exact face.

He straightens and walks toward me slowly. When he stop our faces are inches away from each other. He doesn't look at me and I not at him. We just stand there in silence, looking at he nothing behind each other. Something wet and cold touches my hand. Looking down I realize its Jay pressing the blood covered glass into my hand. I look up at him and our eyes finally connect. There is regret in his eyes but no fear. No anger.

_Fear._

Suddenly I understand what he was doing at the apartment. He was pushing me away, not because he wanted me to feel like him or because he wanted to be left alone. Because he just wanted _me_ to distance myself from _him_. He was afraid that he would get me hurt.

"_You told me I wasn't good enough, just like everyone else I've ever cared for."_

Jay wasn't talking about how people rejected him, he was talking about how people he loved _died._ Now, because of Will, he thinks that its his fault. That all those deaths are because they were close to him. And because its Halstead being Halstead, he will make sure nobody else dies 'because of him.'

_No. He wouldn't. He-...would he?_

As he breaks his gaze I know he would. Before I can say anything he slips past me and runs down the stairs, out of the house. I don't turn to watch him go. I know I may never see him again. But I don't look. I just take a deep breath.

And let him go.

* * *

**Wow that was...I don't even know. But you can finish that sentence in a review. (hint, hint) So the updates are gonna be much more scarce over the next week, (there's that thing called school) but april vaca is after that so this story should be finished by May. :D **

**Hope you enjoyed!**

**I gotta go play soccer. BlueJay out.**


	4. Easily

**Woo-Hoo! Another chapta! You can thank bubbly for this. We had a bet that whoever posted first would get a sneak peak into the other writers big up and coming story. Unfortunately I did not specify that it had to be a NEW story that we post, not one we had written and not gotten around to posting. SO needless to say-I lost. Any way. **

**It didn't really come out how I liked and I'm really sorry for the long update but I hope ya like!**

* * *

**Jays P.O.V.**

The apartment is dark and cold. The sun has long since ceased to shine on this city. It must be two in the morning and freezing cold. The windows are still open from yesterday.

...

"_Why do you never open these things?" _

"_Because Will all I'm gonna see is the dirty brick wall of the building next to us."_

"_So? You room smells like a gym locker and sex. How many girls have you taken in there?"_

"_Jealous much?" Even though I try and hide behind a smirk, he is my brother. Will has always had a knack for seeing right through me._

"_What's wrong?" I just shake my head and stare at my coffee. He walks closer._

"_Jayson Grey Halstead. Who is she and what did you do?" I huff in indignation. _

"_I didn't do anything." He nods in understanding._

"_Ouch."_

_..._

That's as far as we got before the conversation was rudely interrupted by both are cell phones going of. We didn't even say goodbye to each other, we just grabbed our shit for work and left.

Now that I think about it, that's kinda a weird question for him to ask. "Who is she." He knew I had a thing for Erin.

_Erin_

My head hurts at the mention of her name. I've been sitting in my hallway for about four hours now, trying to reorganize my sanity. Every time I think about her or my team, I start to lose it again. So I've danced around the subject of _them _and more focused on my brother. For some reason thinking about him, and what we used to do, seems to be a million times easier than dealing with my most recent mistake.

I stay there, back against the wall, one knee bent with a hand on top. The less bloody hand. My other hand is pressed to my side. A weak attempt to stem the weak flow of blood. It wouldn't have been life threatening, except its been bleeding for a while now. And I think the bullet may have shifted and hit something during my escape from Voight's house.

I visibly flinch as the memory assaults me. It took a while after that, to get back here. I expected the place to be crawling with cops, but it was still dark and silent. To similar to last night. Twenty six hours. Its been twenty six hours since I killed a man. And that man killed my brother.

I had been half asleep on the couch. Will had a late shift so when I heard the door unlock I just assumed it was him. It wasn't until I rolled over and realized that Will was already home.

The sound being made from the door finally clicked.

...

_That's not a key…_

I spring up to receive a hard fist to the face. Twist with the impact and I stumble to my knees, crying out in shock.

_Your gun. Get your gun you idiot._

I struggle to recall that I left it on the coffee table. A glance behind me shows that its no longer there. I must've knocked it to the ground. My hands scramble across the ground, desperately searching for the weapon.

Heavy footsteps sound behind me. A hand grabs my shoulder and I instinctively kick out. My feet catch his and I twist, bringing him to the ground. Lunging forward toward a black object that can only be my weapon, my attacker grabs my ankles and pulls. Dropping like a rock my head connects painfully with the corner of small table.

My muscles go limp and I lie there, dazed as Will enter through though the kitchen.

"Jay?"

"WILL!RUN-" another sharp punch to the face shuts me up. Grey invades the edges of my vision. Sounds of a struggle echo from across the living room. I struggle to lift my head, and when I do, I get to watch carma laugh in my face.

The perp rears back, pull a gun and fires three shot, one after the other, into my brothers chest.

The grey turns to red and suddenly I'm across the room, screaming in rage. I tackle him to the floor, both of us landing hard. I rip the gun from his hand and us the end of it to club him in the head. He brings his elbow back, the gun skitters across the floor, and suddenly we are in my bedroom. He kicks me off and we both stand. My hands instantly raise and my feet slide apart, a perfect fighting stance.

He comes at me first, throwing a pretty decent right hook. I dodge and slam a fist on my into his face, feeling the satisfying crack as his jaw breaks. He twists around in a full circle, bringing a foot up to slam into my side. I fall into my bathroom, barely registering that I took down my towel rack with me.

The fact that he isn't immediately beating the shit out of me means he either 1) ran 2) is waiting for me to get up or 3) went to get his gun.

It turn out to me the latter when a bullet tears though my side. I don't even feel the pain, I just see the blood spatter on my mirror and stumble back with the momentum. He makes the mistake of getting close to me and its all over.

Rushing forward, I twist the gun up to the ceiling where he fires. I push towards me and down, effectively breaking his wrists. Letting the gun fall, I duck low and use my left arm to grab his back, my right crossing my body and grabbing the front of his shirt. I turn a full circle, dragging him with me and letting go when I face my bed again.

The momentum flings this guy into my bedpost. He breaks it, but its still enough to leave him on the ground moaning in pain.

Breathing heavy with pain and rage, I slowly bend and pick up the hollow metal pipe from my towel rack. Then suddenly I'm hitting him, again and again until his head is a bloody mess and I knows hes dead.

The pipe clatters to the floor as I realize.

_Will!_

_..._

The flashback ends with my head jerking up painfully from where it had rested against the wall. I check my watch.

_3:02 _

Guess I fell asleep. Oh well. The time won't change what I came here to do. Even though I am still technically a part of them, I refuse to let Intelligence get in trouble for this. Pulling a pair of plastic cleaning gloves I push myself of the floor and walk to my bedroom, collecting a bottle of bleach and paper towel along the way.

I take a deep breath, pull a black cloth over my mouth and get to work.

Maybe when they find my body, they'll have to do the same thing.

* * *

**Okay I hope that wasn't to confusing! Any '...' meant it was either the beginning or end of a flashback.**

**Sorry its so short but I just had to get this out there.**

**As always. REVIEW?**


	5. The Velvet Glove

**Linday's P.O.V.**

I am not winning any cop of the year awards. Ever. As a matter of fact, if any of us still have our badges after this, I'll probably just turn mine in.

After Jay left, I just stood there for about ten minutes, trying to comes to terms about what just happened. When I started crying, I gave up on being functional and slid to the ground, curled in a ball, and sobbed. I didn't try and help the fallen members of Intelligence. I just bawled my eyes out.

It was dark by the time I stopped. I didn't move, just sat curled in my safe little corner near the stairs and watched the team. I knew I should help them, should get up and try and wake them, but I just couldn't find it in me to give a damn.

It was almost an hour later that someone stirred. Ironic, really, because once Hank started to move, Antonio groaned and shifted, and Al flinched into consciousness. Even as they slowly stand, I don't move or make any noise. A flicker of panic crosses Voights face when he fails to notice me. Wow. He really thinks Halstead would hurt me. Then again, Jay did just incapacitate four experienced cops. I suppose he had a reason to think the worst.

As Al and Antonio move to check on Ruzek, who's still out of it, my surrogate father slowly approaches me.

"Hey."

My eyes stay trained on the opposite wall.

"Hey." I give the simple reply.

He seems at a loss for words. Desperate to escape the suffocating silence between us, I stand, and walk to the bathroom. I duck underneath the sink and grab some towels for Adams arm. Rising, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look as I feel. My face is tired and void of emotion. I am hard, a brick of ice, cold to the touch, and just as frigid on the inside.

I toss the towels to Olinski and head down stairs without a word. Plopping down on a stool next to the island in the kitchen, I try and catch up to reality. It wouldn't be this hard if I knew how to feel about him. Or if I knew _anything_ about him. Really, I just met his brother, I have no idea what the parent story is or if he has any other family. And since he has a family why would he sign all his benefits to the state? What happened in his childhood that was so bad he didn't care enough about his flesh and blood to give them compensation for his death?

Then theres Afghanistan. Where did he learn to fight like that? _Why_ did he learn to fight like that? He was a soldier, yes they have to know some hand to hand, but not to that extent. I get the feeling that was just a small peek into what he can do. What did he have to do that he had to learn that? What did he go through overseas that he had to hide this from us? The only reason I can think that we would never see his skill is because he was hiding from someone.

From someone? No. He hide from everyone. Everyone...except me. He allowed himself to love me. I was probably the first person he opened up to in years.

The realization makes gasp with guilt. He's probably dead by now. And because of me he died thinking he was alone.

Jay called it. I do have a commitment issue. Because I love him. I do. And yet I still told him no. Said that the job and Voight is more important. I was stupid and mean now I hes gone.

I didn't know what I had until I couldn't have it.

And all I'm praying for is something I never had in the first place.

**-the line break thingy isn't working-**

A few minutes later Voight and the gang join me in the kitchen, Adam having woken up and was now getting the cut in his arm cleaned. I'm informed they all agreed that Jay acted out because he was scared, hurt and confused, and was under no circumstances to be blamed. I find it a little easier to breath.

I also am informed that its about four in the morning, and the window for calling in Will's murder and doing it by the book (kinda) has come and gone.

"Then how the hell do we do this?" Ruzek asks, beyond frustrated.

"Well, how 'bout we start with contacting main." I reply, my voice sounder a million times calmer than I feel.

"What?!" Adam just about yells at me.

I shrug, completely unfazed by short attitude I know I'm bound to receive from all the guys in the room. I understand that they're a tad bit freaked out and probably feeling very guilty and confused about anything concerning Jay.

Ha. Been there, done that.

"Intelligence has been off the grid for almost 14 hours. Don't you think we ought to check in?" I can see the gears turning in the everyones head as they realize I'm right. Al pulls out his ancient phone and walks into the small living room, his voice muffled as he call in the address. Voight glances at the bloody glass some how still in my hand.

"You okay?" He asks gently.

I give him the biggest "Are-you-fucking-kidding-me" look in the history of all the faces I've ever made. He raises his eyebrows, considering what he just said.

"Right." He quietly takes a step back and hands me a washcloth, for my hand. The glass had cut a line across my palm, and my blood mixes with Jay's. I wrap the shard in the cloth, then return it to my hand, so I can simultaneously stop the bleeding and keep holding onto the last piece of Halstead.

Al walk back into the room, shock painted on his face.

"What happened?" Hank jumps talks first. Everybody is staring at Al like he holds the key to understanding this madness.

"I called it in. And….they said they knew."

"What do you mean 'they knew'?" Antonio asks.

"I mean there had already been to Jay's apartment. An anonymous 911 from the payphone across the street. No I.D. on the caller. Police got there and found Will's body."

He pauses for a moment, glancing at us.

" There was nothing really indicating any struggle. The apartment was clean. Homicide it looked like some just appeared, shot Will, then disappeared. Theres no evidence of any one else being in that apartment except Jay, and they can't find him."

Ruzek shakes his concussed head in confusion.

"Al you're talking in circles. What are you trying to say?!"

He takes a deep breathe and look straight at me.

"The _only _found Will's body. Jay, the other DB were no where to be found."

**-I hate fanfiction on mobile-**

**Sorry it's so short. I tried. Oh yes! IMPORTANT NOTICE- I will be starting a new story that gonna be huge (by my standards anyway) so stay tuned. I will be starting it before I post another chapter to this.**

**Review?**


	6. Parallez Universe

**So I recently realized Atwater isn't even mentioned in this story...sorry for you Atwater lovers. Also I apologize in advance for how short it is. Like. It's embarrassingly short. But I love posting. Sue me.**

**Enjoy anyways.**

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**Erin's P.O.V.**

A chorus of "WHAT!"'s echo throughout the room. I lean back and cover my face with my hands, nodding. It all makes sense. He had make sure we were clear, that our failure to follow protocol never came to light. If it did there's no way any of us would have keep our badges. One last act of protection.

"What do you mean?" I realize I said my last thought out loud. Now all eyes are on me again.

"Jay has this drive to protect. I don't know where comes from, but its a safe bet that it's because the people he truly cares about and trusts, they always leave. And now, after Will, he can't- he _won't _lose anyone else." I'm sniffing about in a weak attempt to stem the tears that are threatening to fall.

"Yeah but, Erin. We aren't going anywhere. What does that have to do with-" Antonio cuts off abruptly as he realized my meaning.

"He moved the body." The words drop like stones on the kitchen floor. Al looks at me with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"Do you think he'd come back?" I whip around and glare at him. Or. More pour torment into my expression and hope that balances out my trembling bottom lip and tear filled eyes.

"He just attacked whats left of his family that were trying to help him move past the fact that the last of his blood family is dead in _his house_ because _he_ wasn't good enough to stop a god damn burglar. No Alvin. He's not coming back. He's _never_ going to walk back into Intelligence. He's gone. YOU HEAR ME?! _HE'S GONE!" _And with that last little scream I sink to the floor, sobbing. Again.

"I could have stopped him, I-I should have stopped him but I didn't know how and now he's going to-" Strong familiar arms wrap around me and an insistent voice cuts off my rambling. Hank. I lean in to him.

"He's gone. He's gone." I whisper over and over again, somehow trying to understand the words that cannot be true.

A new but not unwelcomed pair of hands rest on my shoulders.

"Erin, why...why do you think he's never gonna come back? What did he say to you?"

Choking on another sob I reply.

"Olinski, he thinks that people die because of him. I just told you about his drive to protect. What do _you_ think he's gonna do?" Gasping for air, I fall back out of Voight's arms and lean against the cabinets. The tears have subsided but, it's okay, because now I'm hiccuping like mad.

"He refused to- to let us take the fall for-for his-what he believes-are his failures." Antonio slides down next to me and silently hand me a glass of water. I grasp it with a shaky hand and gulp it down. My diaphragm stops spasming. Dawson rests a hand on mine.

"We'll find him."

I shake my head with a wry smile.

"No you won't. Jay doesn't want to be found. Jay _won't_ be found. He won't change his mind. Not about this."

Tony looks like he's barely suppressing a laugh.

"He will if you tell him to."

The team all do their best, but even I can't be bothered to try hiding the snort of a laugh that bubbles from my mouth.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" I say to him. He grins.

"That's why we're friends."

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**Oh my god I am so sorry. It's ridiculously short. I know. I'm horrible. But the good news is the next chapter is going to be up much sooner. And it'll probably be like a chapter 6 part two. I just really needed to get this out there. My teachers decided that having free time after vacation is illegal-hence huge period between chapters...:(**

**Review for my pitiful soul?**


	7. Get On Top

**Hello my people! So I know I said this would be a part two, but really it's it's own chapter. Oh well. Guess I can deal with a minuscule chapter six. **

**Hope you like!**

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**Still Erin's P.O.V. **

The black dress clings to my body and shows off my curves. It was Jay's favorite. There is little doubt in my mind that he is now dead. _It's what he wanted. It's what he felt he had to do. He's at peace. _

"You ready?" I reply to Voight's reflection in the mirror.

"Yeah."

I snatch my dress coat and walk outside, not sparing Al or Ruzek a second glance as I pass them in the kitchen. As I climb down the steps, Antonio, clad in a sharp in a black suit, opens the door of the escalade for me. The rest of the guys are similarly dressed in suits with dark somber moods to match the black of their clothes.

I slide into the middle seat, Al and Ruzek sit on either side of me, Dawson hits shotgun, and Hank takes the wheel. We ride in a proud silence. It's an unspoken agreement. This. This is for Jay.

The funeral is a quiet one, only a few friends there besides us. There is a man in the front, standing tall and arrogant, his chest puffed out like the ceremony is all about him. Must be Halstead senior. His face is twisted in an ugly sneer of pain and...anger? At what? The fact that one of his sons dead? Or because the his other son isn't at the funeral?

My hands start to shake with a fury to match no other. _Both your sons are dead, jackass. You dare be mad at one of them I will personally see to it you rot in a jail cell. _I mentally threaten as I shove my trembling hands into my coat pockets, staring at the ground. Voight catches a hand and enfolds it in his. I raise my head.

Will's coffin is a simple glossy black. The peace corp symbol is proudly displayed near the head, in the midst of some white and red roses. I guess he did some work overseas, in Africa or something. I guess it runs in the family. My gaze flickers back to Mr. Halstead. Or not.

The ceremony is short but powerful. There is a small awkward moment where the priest asks if anyone would like to say a few words. Normally the closest to the deceased would talk first, then good friends and so on. But nobody moves. It's Jay's place to speak and his gaping absence is felt by everyone. It doesn't help that his dad refuses to move. Finally Voight moves to the front, more out of respect for Jay and Will then anything else.

The priest nods gratefully at Hank and gives him the stage.

"I've never really been good at things like this. I, uh-" He pauses slightly and looks to me. I raise my chin in a silent message. _We need this. You can do it. _He nods and continues.

"I never really knew Will. As a matter of fact, the first time I met him, it was in an interrogation. I had reason to believe he was part of something so horrible it took one of our own. I was wrong. When we were in that room Jay was there with us. I saw something between them. Jay-he cared for his brother. They shared a bond of family that is rare in this world. One that I greatly underestimated. I am proud to have had met Will Halstead. And I am proud to have gotten to know his brother."

With that Voight manages to give a eulogy for both a man he didn't know and one that he did. Meanwhile I search the graveyard, the trees at the edges, and the buildings near for something. A shadow, a movement, anything that might indicate a person watching. Because there is that shadow of a doubt. That little part of me that doesn't believe Jay Halstead quit. That my partner, my strong, funny, _courageous_ partner gave up. I guess my heart hasn't caught up with my head.

* * *

**Voight's P.O.V.**

I walk back to my team after giving a eulogy that was rightfully Jay's.

_I hope that worked for ya kid._

The funeral ends soon after. Some of Will's friends mingle and talk. Erin tugs on my arm, motioning to a man standing next to the coffin alone. Must be the father. I shoot her a look; she knows full well the last thing I want to do right now is talk to the father of one of _my_ fallen detectives.

"It'd be rude not to." She hisses through clenched teeth letting me know she feels the same way.

"Mr. Halstead? Erin Lindsay, Jay's partner. I'm sorry for your loss." She holds out a hand, then slowly retracts it at the man's refusal to shake. My eyes narrow involuntarily, ready to cut into this guy, but Erin gives a slight, sharp shake of her head. Instead I content myself to glaring at him. It's pretty obvious he ain't gonna be nice and the small of whiskey is so strong a minor could get drunk off of it.

"You police? His partner? The one with daddy issues?" The older Halstead asks in a rough demeanor that screams 'I'm a scumbag.' Lindsay purses her lips in and gives a slight not, clearly struggling to hold back a sharp retort. I instead, struggle to hold back my fist.

"What? That piss you off?" He snorts in what I'm assuming is amusement.

"You know what pisses me off?" He leans in. The cloud of alcohol fumes follow.

"When cops can't do their damn job." Jay's father's voice is like nails being scrapped over asphalt. Loud. Obnoxious. Painful to listen to.

He pauses for a moment squinting at Erin.

"I bet you know what happened. I bet you have my son held up in a house somewhere, trying to help him get over this. It's his fault, you know. Will died in _Jay's_ apartment. And where the hell was he? Huh? Yeah, I know where he was. He was with you and your pathetic fake family. He couldn't even be bothered to come to his own brother's funeral, the lazy little shit. Your tell him if he ever shows his face in front of me again I will kick his ass."

I start forward, ready to lay this asshole out, when an hand grabs my arm. I whip around to see Antonio holding me back. He shakes his head, eyes serious. My head swivels back to Erin.

"Mr. Halstead." She says looking down at the ground and carefully taking a step forward before raising her eyes to meet his. I can practically feel the heat from her gaze.

"I _do_ know what happened. But I sure as hell ain't gonna tell you. And if I see your stupid, drunk, no-good redneck piece of _shit_ persona again, I will personally see to it you end up in the bottom of the lake. Get out of Chicago, Jackass."

A corner of my mouth twitches in satisfaction. The look of pure surprise and indignation at her words is so perfectly painted on his face I want to pull out a phone and take a picture. Lindsay turns on one heel and struts purposely past us and to the cars. We follow.

The team ends up at Molly's. Al does a one-liner toast to the Halstead's (the brothers anyway) and we end up laughing our asses off at all the stories of Jay. Most come from his partner, but a couple come from Ruzek and Antonio. It's good, but every time the laughter stops, it is replaces by this silence as we realize these stories are the last of him. Talk about a bipolar conversation.

Two hours later I'm shoving the key into my door and pushing my way inside. Shedding my jacket, I completely bypass the kitchen in a beeline for the stairs when I hear it. A small huff of sorts. Like a shift in the air telling me I'm not alone. Slowly, carefully I creep back into my kitchen and yank my weapon out of its holster still attached to my waist.

I take a deep breath and round the corner into the living room, raising my gun to a figure seated in a chair. The moonlight filters through the windows, illuminating part of the man's face. I lower my gun and stare.

_Son of a gun._

He takes a deep breathe.

"I need your help."

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**Damn. Hooray for me. Two chapter, two days. I'm proud guys. 'But Jay, you said you'd have it up today. How is this an accomplishment?' because my amazing readers, followers, favoritors, and a REVIEWERS- you may have noticed-I'm not consistent. Or have good time management. :D**

**Hope you guys enjoyed! Drop me a review on you way out!**


	8. Road Trippin'

**Yes, I am fully aware that its been almost two months since I updates. Sorry. On the bright side today was my last day of school so I have more time. Well, not for this week. Or the week after. Basically into fourth of July I'm busy (I am that person who always had a spectacular 4th of July party complete with the illegal fireworks show that's fucking amazing and anyone who disagrees will be watching them from a body bag. Which means not at all. Mwahaha.) **

**Anyway. I'm pretty happy how quickly I got this chapter out after I Am Intelligence. I go back and forth between that and this and life aaaaaand I already told you this. Ok. **

**Enjoy.**

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**Erin's P.O.V.**

The rain splatters against my windshield, my wipers working over time to keep the glass clear while failing miserably. The road is narrow and slick, leaving my tires with very little traction, a disaster waiting to happen. I quickly glance at my directions, then take a left. The pavement abruptly turns to dirt for a few yards, then ends all together.

Turning off the car, I grab the plain gold key from the passenger seat and get out. The dampness seeps through my shoes and jeans, chilling me. The water doesn't penetrate my- _his_ leather jacket though, keeping my upper body warm and dry. I can see why he wore it all the time. I'm sure as hell not taking it off anytime sure.

In front of me is a decent sized brown cabin, stationed less than fifteen feet from a small beach front. On a lake. In Wisconsin. It's _the_ log cabin. The one he wanted to go to with me on a day off. Well he's got eternity off. I only have another week before the Voight runs out of favors to pull for me. Us really. Most of intelligence are using vacation days. I don't think anybody has managed a full week since...that night.

We haven't found a body. I'm not expecting to. Jay wouldn't choose to leave in a spot where we could find him. It was something of an unspoken agreement between us after Nadia that neither of us could go through finding another body. After he saved our badges, I looked back on every promise and every mutually agreed upon saying we had.

That's why I'm here today. Not because I owe it to him to see this place but because I promised him something. Something he told me about long ago. You know. When he was dying. The first time, at least.

Maybe that explains why, while I'm not ever going to be happy again, I'm not falling apart completely. Because he's 'died' multiple times. Only one of those times was I with him.

The wind picks up, pulling me from my thoughts. I trek over to the cabin, the key sliding smoothly into the lock. I enter and immediately wish I went here while Jay was still alive. It's one of those cabins where it looks small on the outside, but has plenty of space inside, and is somehow still cozy. When you first walk in there's a small tile mud room where I shed my shoes. The hall leads to living room/kitchen that probably makes up half the inside area. There are three doors off the room, two of which lead to nice bedrooms. The third is in between the the two sleeping rooms and is a long hallway that brings you two a large deck with stone steps leading down to a dock that stretches into the water. All in all, it's a _very_ nice cabin.

I slowly make my way down the paneled hallway, gazing at the many pictures that hang there. Some are pictures are taken with the person's knowledge, like one with dark shaggy haired guy and an equally dark straight haired girl hanging on his shoulder. Both are gorgeous, And their obviously a couple, a serious one at that.

But there are others, some even in black and white. There's one particular picture that fascinates me for no reason. It's Jay and another girl. The photo has no color so I couldn't describe her in detail but it's clear she's beyond beautiful, ten times prettier than the other girl. She's ten times prettier than most _models_. They're facing away from each other, Jay looking to the right, dark jacket and sunglasses, her looking to the left, a strapless shirt corset thing with a jean jacket cut off right below her chest. She's not wearing sunglasses, but the angle of her face makes it impossible to get a good read on her eyes, which seem to be looking down and to the left.

I stare at it for a good ten minutes before realizing why I like it do much. They may not know the picture was being taken so it's the way they stand, the expression on their faces, that I can only describe as strong. The kind of strength that comes from pain and horror on earth. You mix that strength with a sort of cunning intelligence and that's what I can see on their faces. It fascinates me because I have never seen something, _anything_ close to that on Jay.

Jay was always open. You could always see the anger or hurt that he felt because he displayed it on his face. Hell, when I ended our relationship he was so cool about it. Like he totally understood and wasn't hurt at all, and would be able to move on. It was a pile of bullshit and we both knew it, but to everyone else...I guess they believed him. That's probably lay the only time I've seen him fool people when it came to emotions. But then, looking at this picture, thinking about all the things he kept hidden...I'm beginning to think he _wanted_ people to read him like an open book. He _wanted_ me to think I could see what he was feeling because that's what he _choose_ to show.

So many interesting things I'm finding out about my partner.

I migrate toward the end of the hall. It takes an abrupt right that takes to two large sliding glass doors bringing you to the porch, so there is a short wall facing the water.

'_Found it'_ I think staring at the lone picture, largely framed and slightly faded from the sun. It's a picture of seven people, from the left-the black haired girl and an near exact copy of her (must be her sister), then the black haired guy, then Jay and the girl from his picture, then a sandy haired guy and a curly brown haired male. They're all hanging on each other, laughing and smiling, as carefree as teenagers on spring break.

Once again I see something I've never seen in Jay- joy. Never have I see such happiness in him then in this picture. When he's with me he's relaxed. In this photo, with them...he's..._whole_. I think I'll bring the team up here one day. Just to show them what we've never seen in our teammate.

I grit my teeth against the pain in my heart and search around the frame, looking for a place that someone could put a phone. Fortunately I don't have to look far, it's a small flip phone in the drawer of the small decorator table the frame rests on, stationed in the corner near the doors.

Returning to the living room I sit on the surprisingly plush couch and stare at the phone in my lap. My train of thought travels back to why I even knew to look for this phone. I was told about it during the first time he died. Or. Was _dying_ would be a better term.

It was pretty ironic because we wouldn't have been out there had I not been so screwed up from Nadia. It was one of those nights where sleep was no where to be found, and I was to restless to stay in bed. The further from Nadia's death I got, those nights became few and far between. After I quit, I had about a week before I hit the edge. Jay found me not breathing, lying in a pool of my own vomit, a tube tied around my arm. He called his brother, found something from my first aid kit and managed to save my life without putting another drug charge on my record.

After that he brought me to his place, where I lived for a quarter of the year. After about a month of him supporting me, he pulled some strings and got me a job working with his friend at a shooting range. (Couldn't even begin to tell you about the guns I've gotten to shoot.) Another month after that I talked to Voight and got my job back. At some point I moved back to my apartment but it never really stuck. We ended up bouncing back and forth each other's homes, never really caring who stayed the night.

Back to my point, I was too agitated to stay in my room so I called Jay. It was about four in the morning so I knew he'd be up. That being said, I wasn't surprised at all when he answered with a very nasty** "_WHAT?!"_**

He calmed down after I told him I was ready to drink myself into oblivion. We ended up walking down the pier in the dime light, the street lights off, ready for the approaching dawn. The air is warm and muggy, but not simmering with the heat that accompanies the day. We don't speak on these early walks, choosing instead to just enjoy the dark sky's and the city's lights reflecting off the water.

I suppose that's the only reason we heard anything. If we had been talking we would have walked right by them. They were about ten yards ahead of us, a little to the left, behind a bench I think. A guy and a girl and the girl was not someone you expect to be out this early. Maybe she was a runner like Jay, or maybe she just had a bad night and decided to hit the pier to cool her head. What ever the reason, she didn't belong out there and she definitely didn't belong under this guy.

He must have gagged her or drugged her or something because she wasn't making any noise. The only sound was from the guy who was..._taking_ her. I noticed first and nudged Jay, who at first thought it was just a pimp and hooker until the girl whimpered underneath him. He yelled out and that's when it all went to shit.

...

"_Hey!" Jays voice echoes across the almost deserted walkway. The scum bag raises his head and takes in the new company. He disentangles himself from the girl pretty quickly upon seeing us, then takes care slowly stand, not sparing any attention to girl who fixes her clothes and runs. We stand there staring at each other a moment, each sizing up the other party. He's probably thinking now of running, until he notices the gold badge nestled Jays hip. You can feel the atmosphere shift to dangerous new tone, and I know what's going to happen before the rapist even pulls the gun._

_"NO!" The word escapes my mouth, but do little to stop the bullet from tearing a hole in My partners chest. Grunting in effort, I strain to catch his body and lay him gently on the ground. The shooter sprints away, throwing something, probably the gun, into the water. He runs off into the brightening streets. The sun is almost to the horizon._

_Breathing heavy I search through Jays pockets, knowing he always keeps his phone on him, even on our little walks. It's off, of course, but fully charged. While it turns on I shed my sweater, balling it up and slamming down on the gory hold in his chest._

_"Erin-" he gasps. I ignore him, not really registering his consciousness. Instead I make an emergency call on his phone, giving both our badge numbers and requesting an ambulance. I didn't have to report the fact that we are both cops, but this way, Voight or Platt are more likely to hear about it sooner._

_Once the call is placed, I toss the phone to the side and refocus on Jay. Some blood bubbles on his lips, so I make an executive decision, grabbing under his arms and pulling him into my lap, his head lying on my legs._

_It's now that my brain decides to register that Jay is in fact still awake and very much aware of what's happening. His eyes, though glassy, are clear and bright._

_"It's okay. Lindsay it's okay. I'm okay. I'm okay."_

_I shake my head._

_"You're not. You're not okay. You're not. Stop it Jay. You're-" My voice cracks. I watch as tears start to pool in his eyes. Small ones, sad ones. The kind of that comes from sorrow and regret._

_"Listen to me." He says, his voice carrying the same tremor and wavering strength that comes with crying. And being shot in the chest. I shake my head. No. I can't. I don't have the strength to listen to what he has to say. But somehow I do anyway._

_"Listen to me Erin. I watched Nadia's death break you. But you-you're strong Erin, I know you are. You put yourself back together after her. You didn't forget, you just moved on. " He pauses for breath because he's really starting to lose it now. His tears make mine flow faster, blurring his face._

_"An-and that's what I need you to do. I need you-to remember. To remember me. And you. And us. And everything we ever had, everything we ever did. " Jay smiles, but can't hold it because of the tears flowing down his face and the air he is forced to gasp through his mouth._

_"And I want you, to go to the stupid cabin in Wisconsin-" He stops to cough for a minute before continuing, a little more blood slipping past his lips._

_"-in the back facing the water there's a picture of me a-and-" Jay has to stop because he really can't breathe now. His chest, that was heaving for breath, is now slowly rising and falling, his struggle still evident. And eerie calm washes over me and my breathing slows to match his._

_"And who Jay?" I ask quietly._

_" My family." He whispers, his eyes closing slightly._

_"There's a phone some where near it. You turn it on and you call-" The air catches in his throat and he has to force it past his lips. The effort of talking is taking it's toll on what energy he has left, his muscles slowly relaxing in my arms._

_"-you call Rachel. And you tell her-you tell her everything. From the moment you met me to the moment you buried me." Jay's body relaxes to the point of dead weight now that he had said his piece._

_I will do this. I will honor his final request, even if it makes no sense, even if people tell me he was delusional with blood loss, I don't care. I will follow through. I owe him that._

_"I love you Erin Lindsay." His murmur floats through my ears, the last thing before he his beautiful blue eyes slip close._

_"I love you Jay Halstead." The words are said through numb lips and fall on deaf ears. Just then the sun's rays break over the horizon, flooding the sky with beautiful shades of blue, pink and orange. The colors break the calm inside of me and I open my mouth and scream._

_..._

He survived that, despite the fact that he was in a coma for three days and both me and Will were told to sign a DNR. Now that I look back on that, I think it a cruel joke for fate to play. That he survive that freak attack only to have his brother taken by another 'wrong place, wrong time' incident.

It's ironic because he told me to be strong that day. He told me to move on, but never forget. And yet he couldn't take what happened. Actually I take that back. I think Jay could take Will's death. It was just how he died, that destroyed him. Knowing Jay, in his head it was what he did or didn't do that he couldn't live with. I'm sure attacking the team contributed but I think something in the way Will was shot was a main factor. Something happened that night, something we didn't find that made him think Will's death was his fault.

And we- _I_ will never know.

I spare the phone in my hand a glance. It's just a normal black flip phone. It was plugged in when I pulled it out of the drawer, so it's fully charged, I just have to turn it on. While it starts up, I think about how I'm supposed to do this. Is there a number somewhere? Or is she just a contact on the phone?

Turns out to be the latter. There's only seven numbers in the contacts and sure enough one of them is labeled 'Rachel.' I stare at it for a good five minutes, wondering what the fuck I'm doing. I mean how is this even real?! Jay, he told me this was just a cabin, he never told me that this was...this. Obviously these people in the pictures, these are his family. They are important to him. And she's important enough that his dying wish is for me, the girl he loves, or loved, to call another girl and tell her everything I've ever known and experienced with Jay Halstead?!

What the hell will I be getting into if I call this number?!

'_Only one way to find out.'_

I hit send and put the phone to my ear.

'_Ten bucks says the number doesn't even exist anymore.' _I think as it rings.

Suddenly the tone stops and a female voice answers.

_"Hello?"_

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**_Review?_**


	9. Californication

**Antonio's P.O.V.**

The night is cold but clear, the Chicago night a good metaphor for what lies at her heart. I had decided the take the subway then walk to Voight's house, although I neglected to take gloves so the ten degree air temp is making me...slightly uncomfortable. I cup my hands and breath into them, rubbing them together for warmth. Luckily I'm almost there and when I do arrive there better be warm coffee, because I'm having a serious talk with my boss unless I'm awake and alert.

Of course, one should mention the fact it's twelve at night, only a select few know about this meeting, and my Sargent. Wasn't even the person to tell me to show up at his house. Olinski more of just pulled me into a empty broom closet and told me, then emphasized the 'not telling' part of it.

Finally arriving, I hop up the steps and knock on the door, slightly concerned at the fact that I can't see any lights on. The door opens none the less, revealing a tired looking Hank Voight.

"How you doing Dawson?" He asks, stepping aside and gesturing to the interior of the house.

"Freezing my ass off." I reply as I cross into the house. I hear the door close behind me. There's a light on in the kitchen, hidden by a wall to the outside view. Shedding my jacket I walk into lighted room, draping clothing onto a chair and excepting a mug of coffee (Thank the lord) from Al who just kinda appeared behind me. That man plays a mean game of hide and seek.

"Hey Alvin." He nods in response, retreating to the other side of the room and leaning against the sink. I copy him, backing up against the counter. Voight walks back in and smirks as me and Olinski take a sip of coffee at the same time.

"Soooo..." I murmur, trying to break the silence and get whatever 'this' is started. Al glances at Hank, who takes a deep breath, then looks me straight in the eye.

"There's something you need to know. "

"Oooookay, so tell me." Voight raises an eyebrow.

"Do you really think we'd ask you here in the dead of night just to tell you something we could have told you in simple conversation?" I open my mouth for a sharp retort (I've had a real short temper lately) but Olinski interrupts, always the peace keeper.

"What he means is, we can't really tell you. It's easier to _show_ you." With that he turns his head toward a second archway between the hall and kitchen. I follow his gaze to see a fourth person leaning there. Hands in his pockets, one foot casually crossed over the other, head tilted slightly to the left, he looks just like-

"Impossible..." I whisper, eyes wide in complete and utter shock. The figure straightens and steps forward into the light.

"We need your help."  
O-/-O  
**Erin's P.O.V.**

_"Hello?"_

For a few moments, I just open and close my mouth trying to find something to say.

"H-hello?" I whisper back. "Is-is this Rachel?"

"How did you get this phone?" Her tone is aggressive, making me feel as though being here, in this place, I'm intruding on something.

"Look honey I don't know who you are, but unless you want get yourself killed, you're going to start answering me." That tone of authority returns to her voice and mixes with the anger. My heart drops. For some reason I thought she'd be similar to Jay. Like. Same personality and everything. I don't know. Guess I'm just delusional.

"Jay told me about it." I say in a hard voice. There's a pause.

"Ok." Ok? OK?! What the hell does that mean?!

"Do you want to tell me why you're using it to call me?" I'm taken aback by the change in her. The once strong voice is now soft and gentle.

"I-what?" I just about yell in confusion.

"If Jay told you about this phone, then he told you during a dire situation. So he also instructed you to tell me what happened. So. Tell me, Erin. Why. Are. You. Calling me?"

I take a deep breath and let it out through my lips. Then I start.

"When I first met Jay, I hated him. I hated that way he smiled. I hated the way he joked. I hated the way he made me _feel_. Halstead was different than me, but he was also the same. He had that same arrogance and charisma that I did, the same special feeling that comes from knowing you have done something not many other people have or could have. He...carried himself like I did. Not that he was any better than the stranger next to you. No, he felt every one of his mistakes every time he looked in the mirror. I think he moved with pride because he had something to be proud _of_. Because he was a part of something huge and strong and powerful.  
He was a _ranger_. Nothing could take that away from him."

I pause.

"That was the first thing I loved about him. The way he swaggered up the stairs to intelligence..." And I keep going. I talk. I laugh and cry. And it takes me about three hours but finally, FINALLY, I finish. I've told her everything I have ever done, said, heard or thought about Jay Halstead.

There's a moment of complete silence where I think she's hung up and I've been talking to air for half a day. The thought depresses me, but I'm so emotionally drained, I honestly couldn't care. It's not until she speaks that I realize something.

"Thank you for telling me." Her voice is thick, like she's been crying, but it's not shaky. I decide to ask her before she hangs up.

"Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

"I never told you my name." I mumble, referring to the start of our conversation.

"I know. It took you a while to catch that, but Im glad you did. I'm not stalking you, I promise. You see my brother has told me so much about you."

"Your brother?" I ask confused.

"Yes Lindsay. Jay Halstead. My not-blood brother. You can ask him, he'll confirm it." I flinch, although she Obviously can't see me. After all that, she didn't get that he's dead?!

"Rachel, Jay is not exactly around anymore."

"Oh, I know he been...distant. But he'll come back, you'll see."

I inhale sharply at her words. Why can't this girl get it?! My delayed reaction however seems to set of some understanding in her, because her next words are hesitant.

"Erin...Jay isn't dead." I heave a sigh.

"I know it's hard to accept but-"

"No Erin you don't get it. He's NOT dead, I know he isn't."

"Hey I get it he-"

"No." She says interrupting me again. "He's not."

"Rachel."

"Erin."

"Look, I just wanted to-"

"Have you found a body?" _I swear to god, if this girl interrupts me again I'm gonna_-

"Have you found a body?!" She all but yells into the phone.

"No!" I snap back.

"Did you see him die? Find any evidence at all?"

"No." I hiss through gritted teeth.

"Then tell me, how _exactly_ do you know he is dead?"

I take a sharp intake in anticipation of a response but her words sink in first. Could there really be any possibility that Jay is alive? My heart wants to soar with hope but keep it changed down.  
_  
_'_No. Don't do that to yourself Erin he's dead.'_

"I-He cleaned up the crime scene! He saved intelligence!" Even as I say it my argument sounds weak. It made so much sense before but now Rachel's input makes it seem like a stretch, like something a grieving lover would see in order to make sense of things. Like say, right after you watch your partner go from a near catatonic state to complete angry assassin mode then disappear for good.

"Okay, so he protected you guys from feeling the wrath of what he thinks is his mistake...completely understandable and completely Jay. The reason you guys saw what you did from him, is the same reason you haven't seen him for a month. He just lost his brother. And if there's one thing I know about Jay is that he doesn't deal with things well. Particularly death." She pauses and her words sink in.

"Halstead may be missing himself, but he's not dead Erin."

"Erin?"

"I gotta go." I breathe, the words barely audible. Suddenly its like I'm not part of my body anymore. I close the phone but don't remember deciding to do so. Sinking back into the couch I stare at the opposite wall without really seeing it. I just...stare. Breathe in. blink. Breathe out. Over and over again, until I find myself blinking awake to a dark room. The moon's light casts thin grey shadows all over the floor so at least I'm able to make out the the doorway to one of the bedrooms.

Fuck it.

Clawing my way off the couch I stumble over to the door and enter, making a beeline for the bed. Which mind you, is fantastic. It's got a huge fluffy comforter on it and it's one of those memory foam mattresses, so it super comfortable. As I settle in, I take make the mistake of inhaling deeply. The smell of the pillow I just inadvertently sniffed is a mixture of old spice and soap and some guy colonge that's so Jay. My eyes open and search the room. Sure enough, the evidence is there, on the nightstand.

This was his room. Where he slept whenever he was here. I know because no one else would sleep with that picture next to them. The photograph is not framed, and when I pick it up I notice how worn it is. The crease lines and frayed edges indicating that it's been stuffed in a wallet and pockets and bags a million times over.

Its us.

Not just Jay and I. Ruzek and Antonio are there, with Voight and Olinksi in the back. We're at Molly's, all of us laughing at some thing. None of us are aware the picture is being taken, so our smiles, our positions are natural. Al, the only one not seated at the crowded bar table, must be telling the joke, because his body is in mid-story telling mode. Everyone else is almost in tears we're laughing so hard. We look so relaxed and happy, its hard to think that was even our team.

Jay's...disappearance, has affected everyone differently. I haven't really seen it, but Voight has told me when he checks up on me. Antonio has become more aggressive, angry at the world and everyone in it. Al became more resigned. Ruzek is like his partner, sad but more reserved too, almost to the point of isolation. Atwater was never knew Jay, but he mourns like the rest. Everyone dances around the subject of Jay, afraid to say his name. They do the same with me.

Voight is different too. I think in some ways he feels that he should have done something. That internal promise he has made to everyone without them knowing it, that promise that he protects them, makes sure that they get home in one piece...he believes he has broken it. Because even though there is nothing he could have done, he still feels responsible for what happened to his detective. And because of that he treats everyone differently. He talks softer, without that edge he used to have. It's like that hard part of him that made him Hank Voight is gone.

It's going around. No one is who they were. Guess that comes out of the one person you told yourself you didn't really need, is yanked from you. And you find out that person was the glue that held you together. That was the problem with Halstead. No one wanted to admit to themselves that they cared about him. Just like he was scared to care about them.

I say them because, lets be honest here, he feel for me the first day on the job. I do include myself in the 'they' though. I refused-refused to care about him. Well. More like, refused to admit that I did. But he got the same message. Funny how he had to die, for me to see how much I wanted him to live.

A soft patter startles me out of my heart-aching thoughts. Clouds have returned, covering the moon and blocking any light of reaching the bedroom. The rain has picks up again, turning from a light sprinkle to a steady thrum in a matter of seconds. I stare at the faint outline of the picture now in my hand. Folding it along its worn creases, I tuck my arms around my body, keeping the picture safely in one of my hands. I snuggle deeper into the blankets, nuzzling the pillow and curling deeper in a little ball.

I fall asleep trying to imagine his arms around me.

* * *

**Okay so this is very, _very_ important. Please read all of this other wise my other story will not make sense to you.**

**This story is in the same universe as I Am Intelligence. So that means Will is dead in that story, and all of these events _have already happened._ To clarify, this story takes place BEFORE I Am Intelligence. Think like...11 or so months before. Enough that things have calmed down from...well from this story's events. **

**I know that may be super confusing, so just leave and questions in reviews and I will answer them in the next chapter or IAI. Or just pm me. Either way works. And of course while you guys are leaving me those questions you could tell me if you hated the chapter or not.**

**Please? :)**


	10. Savior

**OOOKKKKKAAAAAYYYY! I GET IT IM LAZY AND A PROCRASTINATOR! I NEED TO UPDATE MORE-SOOOORRRRRREEEEEEEEE!**

**Also to make this less confusing for yall- anytime you see this a line break It is the start or end of a flashback.**

**Have fun with this. I know I did. ;)**

* * *

**P.O.V.-Take a guess XD**

"So she's not answering her phone?" Antonio asks.

"No." I mutter, staring at my coffee, swirling in some more sugar.

"She….Erin wouldn't _do_ anything would she? Did you talk to her before she left? Was she more off than usual?" He continues.

"Why are you asking me?" I retort, somewhat annoyed with the whole situation.

"Uhh, don't know if you noticed but finding Erin Lindsay when she doesn't want to be found is near impossible. And seeing as she didn't want to see anyone the past month, I couldn't even tell you _when _she left never mind, what state of mind she was in." Ruzek says, quickly putting his hands up under both me and Dawson's glare.

"Just sayin." He murmurs, before rolling his eyes and adding "I talked to her last week through text."

"Last I saw her was about three days ago and she wouldn't talk to me so you read into that how you want." Al says adding his two cents.

"So we have no idea where she is or if she's okay?"

I glance around the room before reverting my eyes back to the caffeinated liquid in my hands.

"If she is where I think she is, then calling her a million times isn't going to work. There's shitty cell service up there unless you're using a special network, which I know she isn't." I say quietly, still refusing to look at the room. I know they've noticed, but hey, confidence isn't really my strong suit.

"Well, then. What the hell are we supposed to do?" Dawson looks around the slightly crowded room, watching as everyone averts their gaze. I can understand why. They were all so wrapped up in their own grief no one had time to watch Erin. And now that she's not here and they're not grieving any more they all feel guilty.

Well, sucks to be them, huh.

"Someone could drive up there." Adam says, almost like a question. I sigh, wishing it was that simple.

"Erin is the only person that knows about that cabin and where it is, if someone drove up there she wouldn't care that you were there for her, she'd wonder how the fuck you got up there. It isn't exactly on mapquest." My response seems to add tension to the room, the anger that lies underneath their relief surfacing for a moment.

"Besides you don't even know when she left. Give her another day. If we don't hear anything, you can file her as a missing person. Then you'd have an excuse for tracking her cell phone and all that." I aim the last part at one Hank Voight, who's said nothing the entire time. He throws me a smirk before giving me a once over, frowning at my posture.

"Shut up and sit down before you fall down kid." I gaze at him a moment, still trying to get used to the fact that Hank not only no longer seems to hate me, but also gives a shit what happens to me.

His words actually, not mine. Back when I was delusional from blood lose and couldnt figure out why he was helping me. Apparently I said A LOT of things that night.

I can't remember shit, but hey, I don't deal with things. Well. At all.

"Im okay."

The amount of disbelief pointed at me after I say that is ridiculous. The disbelief which then turns to glares when I keep standing, is no where near amusing.

I sit down.

They go back to discussing, while I chug my coffee. Even though it's been over four weeks since I almost bleed out all over Voight's kitchen table, I'm still not 100%. Then again it's only been two weeks since I really got over the infection. And by got over, I mean I moved past the 'holy-shit-my-body-is-literally-going-to-shut-down-from-this-fucking-fever' stage.

Really though, I'm just glad Voight didn't shoot me when I showed up at his house in the middle of the night. But thinking back to that moment….I kinda had wanted him to.

* * *

"_I need your help."_

"Jay?!" Voight whispered. At that one word any chance of me keeping it together flys out the window.

I break.

"Look, I-I'm sorry I didn't know where else to go and-" I have to stop for a moment because the raw emotional pain has started to mix with the physical and it's making it hard to catch my breath. Hank just stands there, pure shock painted all over his face, the gun pointed at my face never wavering.

"And _he_ was at the funeral, I just _couldn't, _I couldn't do it, I tried but...I _can't.." _I've started to sob at this point, my grip on reality starting to slip. There's a clicking noise as Voight switches the safety off, gently placing the gun to lean in the corner.

"You can't _what _Jay?" He asks, slowly taking small steps toward my chair that I'm currently leaking blood all over.

I inhale deeply and hold it, staring him straight in the eye before saying in the calmest voice probably since Will was shot.

"I can't _die. _I tried, I thought-" I have to inhale again, but I can't, it's like I'm choking on the air and I just can't hold on anymore. Instinctively I had leaned forward to try to breath, and now, as the rest of my body relaxes, I slid to the floor, landing on my hands and knees.

"_I dont want to die!" _My anguished whispers echoes across the near empty house, mixing with my desperate attempts to breathe. My body has almost shut down completely and I'm about to be completely collapsed on the white carpet when an arm wraps around my back, another pressing against my chest. The arms are strong and manage to drag me to my feet.

I stumble, giving everything I have just to stay standing and conscious.

"Jay." '_Voight._' I think, identifying the voice and the arms that hold me upright.

"Jay, look at me." I shake my head, no, I do not want, I am afraid of what I will see there. A hand gently tilts my face upward, forcing me to stare back at my boss. Or. Ex-boss.

"You're going to be _okay_. Understand me? _It's going to be okay." _Voight tells me in that voice where it's like anything he says is true.

* * *

I had believed him too. I had. Of course, I wasn't really thinking coherently at that point. Or thinking in general. If I had I would have gone to a god damn hospital instead of making Voight try and save my ass.

I let out a sigh then bring my feet upon the couch, splaying out across the length of the couch. One thing I definitely haven't caught up on-sleep. Between the nightmares and trying to beat down the sickness, I'm always exhausted all the time. As I lay down, I get more than a couple worried glances from the team, although they ultimately go back to discussing Lindsay. The conversation slowly turns to a low murmur then nothing as I plunge into the black abyss that is sleep.

* * *

**Voight's P.O.V.**

"So we're waiting till tomorrow then?" Antonio asks, looking pointedly at me. I shrug.

"Guess we have to." I ground out, my gaze never leaving the zonked figure on the couch. Not that I plan on waking him up, the dark circles under his eyes and skin almost as white as the shirt he wears pretty clear indicators that he needs all the rest he can get. That and the fact that he's ran a low fever on and off the past two weeks. I say low because when compared to wear he was, a 101 would be low.

Al follows my gaze then glances at me. He puts a hand on my arm.

"C'mon, we can talk in the kitchen. He'll be fine."

Reluctantly I follow him and the rest of what's left of intelligence, to go stand in the next room. There's a small silence where Al and Antonio kind of just have this silent conversation. Dawson seems to win, because Olinski is the next to speak.

"Voight, don't you think...maybe we should take to a hospital. I mean it's been two weeks and he's still not over that infection. If he's ever going to get back on the force-"

"_When _he gets his badge back, he will be back in intelligence and trust me when I say that'll only happen when he's ready not a minute sooner." I stare back at Al, then at Antonio, daring either of them to contradict me. Dawson, unfortunately does.

"Yes, but what if we're in the middle of a fire fight or he has to shoot someone?" My eyes narrow on their own, my suspicions starting to rouse.

"What are you getting at?" I ask the two of them, though it's Ruzek who answers, his arms crossed across his chest as he leans on the old wooden table sitting in the middle on the kitchen.

"We want to know if he any signs of PTSD. If we were in a shoot out, if he hesitated because he was in the middle of a flashback, he could himself and us hurt or worse." I actually have to rein myself in as to not say anything, because if I did, it would not be a pretty time. Instead I try and digest the rookies words while staring at the table. I cleaned it the best I could but, you can still see the spots his blood _didn't _touch.

I mean it's not a huge table, but I seriously never want to see that much exit my detectives body ever again.

* * *

"C'mon kid, let's get you cleaned up." I slip my right arm around his midsection, repositioning my left to get a better grip under his shoulder. After basically dragging him to the kitchen, I'm about to sit him in a chair when my right hand registers the dampness on the upper left of his abdomen. Looking down, I peel my hand away, groaning at the blood covering it.

Abandoning the chair, I just about have to throw him onto the table, thankful that I never use it, so I don't have to move anything. Once Jay is splayed out on the table, I rush around the round oakwood, pushing is shoulders so his head is fully on the table, moving his arms and kicking chairs out of the way.

Finally, he's fully on the table minus his feet, and I can clearly see where the blood is seeping from. A bullet tore its way through the soft flesh right above the stomach, but also right below the ribs. My hands float above the wound for a second as I look at Jay. He didn't resist when I moved him, and only offered the occasional moan of pain.

"Don't freak out okay, I'm gonna take your shirt off." I mutter. Reaching up I grab the hem of his black t-shirt and pull, ripping the ruined shirt in two. Doing the same for the sleeves, I manage to pull the bloody rag out from underneath him. As I move I spare a glance to Jay. At the moment he is conscious but only just, his half lidded eyes gazing at nothing. Whipping around I grab a towel and as a second thought i snatch my cell up from the counter. Returning to Jay who has started to steadily moan and whimper, I press the bunched up towel to the wound and I press _hard._ Halstead just groans louder, twisting his head from side to side.

I flip my cell phone open and speed dial Olinksi. Throwing it on speaker I place it next to Jay's legs, waiting anxiously as it rings.

"ALVIN!" I yell, startling Halstead into awareness for a few moments.

"_Woah, Hank, what's going on? Are you okay?"_ Al's voice is grainy coming out of the tired speaker but it does manage to put me at ease.

"O, I found Jay. I need your help, he's in bad shape."

"_What?! Jay's alive?!" _

"Not for much longer, when can you get to my house?!"

"_I'm kind of drunk so I took a cab home from molly's, my car's still there. I could get the subway but I wouldn't be there for another hour at least."_

"He doesn't have that long."

"_Okay, okay, where's he injured?"_

"Gunshot wound to the left torso, missed the ribs and I don't think it hit the stomach.

"_And I take it you can't take him to a hospital."_

"By the time an ambo got here, he'll have bleed out. Plus...If he wanted a hospital he's have gone to one not my house."

"_Alright, check to see if he has an exit wound." _ Choosing to keep one hand on the now bloody dish rag, I use that hand and roll Jay's body slightly, biting my lip at the agonized sob that falls from his mouth as I do so.

"No, there's no exit wound." There is a slight pause before Al responds.

"_You need to get the bullet out."_

"**WHAT?!"**

"_Unless you want him to go into sepsis shock, you need to get that bullet out. Look if it's where you said it was, it shouldn't be as hard as you think, just painful as hell. You got a needle and thread?"_

I nod at first, then realize that he can't see me I respond verbally.

"_Good. Go get it. You're going to need some more towels too, and the sharpest knife you have. And grab a bottle of liquor, pure vodka if you have it." _

"What about keeping pressure on it?"

"_Well, if you run fast enough, you shouldn't have to worry about him losing to much blood."_ Instantly abandoning the soaked cloth, I dash around the kitchen, marveling at the fact that all of the supplies are in the same damn room. Dragging a chair close with my foot, I dump the towel and small emergency sewing kit I've keep in the cabinet ever since Erin almost cut her finger off on accident when she was a kid.

Guessing what the vodka was for, I pour some over my small but extremely sharp paring knife, not really concerned about placing it next to Jay's hand, until my own hand comes back bloody. The deep red color of the dish rag telling me it's soaked through. Quickly replacing it, I slam both hands back onto the covered bullet hole, eliciting a sharp yell from Halstead.

Well, at least he's still conscious.

"Now what?!"

"_Use the alcohol to sterilize the knife. And get his shirt off"_

"Did that."

"_Did you thread the needle?"_

"Why the hell would I do that now?!"

"_Because when you finally find out what the bullet hit to stop the bleeding, you're not going to want to stop to thread a god damn needle."_

Growling, I resolve to press my forearms against the padding, effectively slowing the bleeding while keeping my hands free to thread the fucking needle. And let me tell you, if you thought threading a needle normally was hard, doing it while leaning over your dying detectives body knowing no help is going to come for at least an hour with adrenaline making your hands shake it is a million times harder. Nearing on impossible.

On the hundredth try I finally get it, sending silent praise to Camille for forcing me learn how to tie a damn threading knot.

"_You're a cop. You never know when you need to be able to use a needle and thread." _Her exact words.

"Okay, I got it." I yell in elation when it's finally threaded tight and sterilized.

Nothing.

"Alvin?" Suddenly the door slams.

"Hank!" Jerking my head up, I'm left in utter shock for the second time this night.

"Wha-how- You said you couldn't be here for another hour!" I exclaim as my long time friend shrugs his jacket off.

"I took a cab. Genius idea right." Alvin wastes no time, moving straight to opposite side of the table, rolling up his sleeves. He ends up next to Jay's head, carefully placing a hand on the side of Halstead's neck and tilting Jay's face toward his own. It is now that I notice my detective's closed eyes and quiet demeanor, quite different than earlier.

"Jay. Hey buddy I know you're shot and all but you gotta wake up for me alright? C'mon kid open your eyes." My hands keep pressure while Alvin talks, gently tapping Halstead's face trying to get a response. He glances at me, taking in the saturated dishrag, the blood covering my hands and slowly seeping onto the table.

"Alright we gotta do this fast before he's too far gone. Switch places with me, and hold down his shoulders." Nodding, I rush to the other side of the table, Alvin quickly taking my spot and using one hand to hold pressure, the other grabbing the open bottle of liquor. He glances at me.

"Ready?" I push my weight onto Halstead's shoulders.

"Let's do it." Olinski pulls the towel off and throws it behind him before pouring the clear alcohol straight into the gory hole somehow still spilling blood. Jay's body turns rock solid as all his muscles tense with the pain. A scream crawls its way through gritted teeth, making me look down in relief to see Halstead's eyes, albeit slightly watery, are open.

"Jay, you're doing fine, just relax.' I say the words in a soft voice, surprising even myself. Jay seems to latch on to my words. I glance at Alvin, who looks down to the knife then back at me.

"Keep talking." He whispers. I turn back to my broken detective.

"Listen. Listen we have to get the bullet out Okay? We're going to cut the wound open a little, then go in and-" At that moment Al pushed the blade of the knife into Jay's skin, cutting a small 'x' over the bullet hole. Halstead tenses again, I can see him trying hard not to make any noise.

Al throws some Vodka on his hands.

"Alright Jay you ready?" He asks. Neither of us are expecting an answer and we don't get one. I'm not even sure Jay heard him. I watch as Olinski takes a deep breath then puts his fingers into Halstead's abdomen. I feel Halstead inhale deeply, then hear as he lets out this horrible agony filled scream that fills the house and reverberates in my bones.

"Holy shit, I think I almost got it." Al says after a minute, twisting his fingers a little. The choked scream that emanates from Jay sounds like that of a dying animal. His body twists, desperately trying to move away from the pain. Suddenly his body goes limp, eyes fluttering for a moment before sliding shut completely.

"He's out." I report. There's a small *tink* and I look up in time to see Alvin turning back around, a small piece of lead sitting on the counter, blood coating it. The bullet.

"Good. Just make sure he keeps breathing, this is gonna hurt even more. I gotta stitch him up."

There's this moment after he says this where I look at Al and he looks at me, both of us breathing heavy as we realize that our teammate, our detective, was not only Alive, but now has literally put his life in our hands. Then it's over and I'm pushing my fingers against Halstead neck for a pulse and Olinski has his hands back in the wound, using the needle to sew whatever the bullet hit.

Finally Olinski leans back, dropping the needle then picking up a towel and starts to mop up the blood off of jay's abdomen. Peering over, I stare in a wonderful fascination at the able to see a line of neat stitches crossing the angry flesh.

"How's he doing?" The question startles me out my revere, forcing me to notice how pale Jay is. Hell I have white shirts with more color in them. However as I'm watching, his breath hitches for a moment before picking up slightly. I focus on Jays face, surprised to see to see two blue orbs staring back at me.

"Jay? Hey, can you hear me?" I ask, concerned at the amount of confusion that clouds his eyes. Olinksi continues cleaning, picking up the soaked towels and chucking them in the trash. Halsteads eyes struggle to focus on me, lazily flicking around as he scans the room before setting back on me.

"Wh't'r you doin?" He mumbles, weakly pawing at the towel covering his stitches. I catch his hand just as O comes back into the kitchen. Surprised I stare at him, a question on my face. I never even saw him leave. He holds up some gauze and medical tape.

"Found this in your bathroom. He awake?" I nod, turning back to answer Halsteads question.

"We're gonna put some dressing on your wound. You were shot, remember? We got the bullet out and stitched you up." The confused look stays on his face, my relief at his consciousness turning to worry. With that much blood loss... I doubt he's going to be coherent. His next question though, throws a curveball.

"But why 'r you h'lpin' me?" He slurs out, eyes flickering for a moment but ultimately staying open to gaze at me. I swallow hard before responding.

"Because I give a shit what happens to ya kid." His eyes, if anything widen a little more, staring at me with a broken innocence.

"Why?" He mumbles again. I look desperately to Al, who has finished taping the gauze to Jays skin.

"Why wouldn't we help you Jay?" He asks softly, wiping his hands off with the last semi clean dish towel I grabbed. Halstead doesn't respond at first, choosing instead to take several semi deep breathes. I'm starting to think he isn't going to respond at all, until the pained whisper slips from his mouth, and I know he's lost.

"They we'r m-my fault. N-Nadia 'nd Will an 'Rin quitting. I-I d'nt deserve yu'r h'lp." I sigh, shaking my head.

"No Jay that's not-Nadia isn't on you. That'll never be on you. Neither is Will. There was nothing you could have done, okay. And you are the reason for Lindsay coming back, not leaving."

He seems to completely ignore my words, just continues to ramble and I start to wonder if he's even really with us, or just mumbling to himself in his own delusional world.

"Sh-she w'nt out, I coulda st'p'ed her, I should h've s-st'p'ed 'er...sh'd 'av..." We watch in sad silence as Halstead goes quiet, his eyes skidding shut for the second time tonight. Al checks his pulse again, nodding in satisfaction. I breath out heavily, the reality of what has happened catching up to me.

I stare at Olinski.

"You stuck your fingers inside his abdomen." The sentence is more like a question than a statement. He gives a short bark of laughter.

"Yeah, that was the grossest thing I've had to do in while."

* * *

"Voight?"

"He'll be fine!" I snap at Antonio. "He just has to get back on his feet and Lindsay can help him do that."

"Assuming she doesn't flip out and hold a grudge against him." I stare incredulously at my Olinksi.

"Oh, now you're against me on this?! Jay deserves his badge. Remind me of one time where you saw otherwise."

"When he dragged a shard of glass down my arm and kneed me in the head." Ruzek deadpans, Alvin slapping him upside the head afterwards.

"What? It's true." Adam's older partner sighs.

"That wasn't Jay. You know that. Besides he barely remembers anything from that night." He turns the conversation back to me.

"And I never said I was against you, I do want Jay to get his badge back and soon but I'm just saying Erin might be a little pissed off that everyone else found out before she did. That's kinda the reason he didn't want us to tell her in the first place, the kid's scare shitless of that girl."

I smirk. "Aren't we all?" This earns a round of short laughter, temporarily lightening the mood. I decide to finally answer Adam's question.

"The only sign of any post traumatic stress has been his inability to sleep and that's because of the nightma-" I'm cut off abruptly by the blood curling scream that ripes its way through the house from the living room. The scream I have come to know that means this was one of the worse ones.

The one full of terror and pain and raw emotional agony.

The one that means Jay Halstead won't talk for the next hour because he's trying to discern reality from his internal hell.

The one that means my resurrected detective is one the brink of defeat once more.

* * *

**GUYS! That was the longest chapter to date of this story. Over four thousand words. Also I did this in like two days so I apologize for any stupid weird sentences. Also, I want to apologize for the two month spans over updates, its just that I think my writing is shit so I rewrite a lot of my stuff and I have like zero motivation most the time. **

**AND OH MY GOD THAT PROMO NO OKAY IM SORRY EVERYONES BEEN FREAKING ON TUMBLR BUT COME ON THATS GOING TO BE THE BEST FUCKING EPISODE AND JAY AND OH MY JESUS OK NO**

***AHEM* get a hold of ones self. Sorry. Pictures of Jay halstead being cute for every review. :)**


	11. Emitremmus

**I know. I'm sorry. Too long. As usual. Hopefully you'll enjoy this one...I've hit a huge mental block with this story, so any ideas would be appreciated.**

**Also I have a challenge for you all-**

**See if you can find the reference to a phenomenal movie that's hidden somewhere in this chapter. It's slight. But it's there. :)**

* * *

**Erin's P.O.V.**

The day is a dark, all sunlight having been blocked by dark grey clouds, intent of keeping all warmth out of the air. I had woken late, but left almost immediately, the need to be back in Chicago driving my speed.

The drive home I drowned myself in my favorite music, letting my head help my heart sort out what exactly I was feeling. What I would feel if he was actually alive. At first, I thought betrayed. In fact I expected the rage and distrust to rear their ugly heads the second I played with the idea. But they didn't. I dug deeper, searching for any form of anger that might be directed toward him or anyone else. The only thing I find is utter relief at him being alive, although there is some definite residual hurt from the apparent lack of trust in me by him.

So I spent five hours listening to sad pianos and deep, powerful voices to sing along with my soul's want for him to be alive, to be okay. I think it worked pretty well too, because when I finally got out of my car to walk up to my apartment, my emotions are quelled and I'm ready to jump back into things. And I don't just mean finding the truth. I'm not stupid, I know I can't do this without my badge.

It's been long enough. Too long, in fact. Halstead, dead or alive, wouldn't want me to give up the last thing that gave me a purpose. I will do this. For both of us.

That's the main reason I pick up my phone, despite it being the middle of the day and Voight probably knee deep in a case right now. Yet somehow I still expect him to answer, and when he doesn't, it peeves me. I haven't called or texted him directly in almost three weeks and when I finally do he can't check his phone?!

_'Whatever you're doing it better be important.'_ I think begrudgingly.

* * *

**Voight's house.**

**Olinski's P.O.V.**

No one hesitates, all of dropping our respective drinks and sprinting back into the living room. The light has dimmed considerably from a cloudy sky and no electrical lighting is on. However we have no problem discerning Jay from the carpet where he lays, half curled into the fetal position. He must've been thrashing or something during his latest terror, as he did fall off the couch but stayed on the floor in front of it.

I hold out a hand to stop Ruzek and Dawson, all of us watching as Hank walked carefully over the sobbing detective before kneeling and speaking a few low words. He throws a glance to me. I nod, ushering the other two back into the kitchen.

"C'mon, he'll be okay." I tell them, grateful neither push it, although both through me a skeptical look. Really, I just want to give the two privacy, knowing Halstead isn't going to be very coherent for a while. We return to our previous spots, all staring down at our feet before Dawson finally asks, in a somewhat shaky voice-

"What happened to him?" I open my mouth to answer Hank and I's normal half truth but his next sentence cuts me off, canceling that idea.

"And I don't mean what Voight told us. No, I wanna know what the _hell_ happened to that poor kid that fucked him up so bad, he can't sleep for longer than a half an hour without having the worst nightmare of his life!"

I hear a low murmur from the other room and I can just make out a small, quiet reply of a different voice.

"Actually this wasn't his worst, he's already talking." Antonio's face crumples at the harsh but true fact. He leans back against the counter.

"What?" He asks, exasperated.

"The very, very first one. That was the worst."

"Jesus Christ, how many of those has he had? How bad was the first one that _this-" _He gestures to the opening to the living room.

"-is nothing?"

"I didn't say it was nothing. I'm just saying he's had a _lot_ worse."

"What happened?" I stare at my partner who makes his voice known. I shrug.

"Well, it was right before we realized his bullet wound was infected, so that probably worsened it. But it's the only one he hasn't talked about since and it took us almost half a day afterwards to get him responsive again." Ruzek's eyes widen in surprise.

"Wait, he got an infection? When?"

"Started showing not long after we found him, although it didn't get really bad until about three weeks ago. That said, for it to progress as fast as it did, his wound had to have been infected before he showed up in Voight's living room." Antonio merely blinks at the statement, having already been informed of the events following the funeral. Ruzek however, has not been privy to that information. It doesn't take much more than our two glares to silence his shocked protest.

"How bad was it?"

"The infection or the nightmare?"

Ruzek and Dawson respond at the same time, both with opposite answers. Sighing, I swish my now cold coffee around before dumping it in the sink. I glance back at the two.

"Sit down."

* * *

**Voight's P.O.V. (rewind like five minutes)**

"Hey, hey, it's okay. You're okay. Erin's okay, everyone's fine. You're going to be okay Jay, you're going to be okay." I shoot a look at Al, who quickly ushers the other two detectives back into my kitchen, allowing me to return my attention to the scared man in front of me. Looking down at his pale, trembling form, I am surprised to see two coherent but scared blue eyes staring back at me. Slowly and carefully I lay my hand on his shoulder, always in clear view of his line sight. I learned a while ago not to do anything to fast or do anything he can't see. Apparently he perceives them as threats.

This time however, Jay simply ignores my hand, instead deciding to try and curl deeper in the side of the couch.

"Halstead. You here?" I whisper. That sort of became our code question for him after one of these. If he can answer it in a way that proves he's with reality, then it's safe for us to help him. He nods.

"Yeah. I'm here. I'm here." He whispers in choked voice. It's not hard to see the tears he's trying to contain. Kid's been at my house almost a month, I've officially seen him as his lowest and yet he still thinks I'm going to judge him. But I don't say anything and neither does he, even as I take his shoulders and drag him to his feet. He leans heavily on me as I haul him up the stairs to Justin's old room that's basically become his residence for while.

He drops like a rock onto the bed, instantly curling back into a ball as his shivers decrease to a shudder every now and then.

"Do you want me to-"

"Just go." Jay whispers, cutting off my trail of words with his own broken voice.

"Jay-"

"Go. They-they'll probably be asking questions. You should be the one to answer them. I'll be fine." I hesitate at the door, worry underlined with slight relief coursing through my bones. It's the first time I've heard his voice so flat, so little emotion behind it. Which, especially after one of his night terrors, is a bad thing. Except that his reaction: shut down and bury the pain, is what he used to do. It's what the old Jay did.

And while it's a sole miracle to see the old Jay again, this is the part of him I did not want to see come back. So while beggars can't be choosers, I still turn and step back into the room

"Do you remember this first time you had a nightmare here?" I ask, not really intending on listening to his answer as I sit in a recliner on the far corner of the room.

He doesn't answer.

Oh well.

"I think what made it so bad was that it was a new one for you. There was no subconscious memory for you to fall back on. Before this, all the ones you had, you'd had before. So when you woke up, completely disoriented, it would take you a couple seconds, but your brain would connect to all those past times when you woke up the same way, with the same dream. And then you would know- _this_ is reality." I end the sentence with a slight smirk, both at the irony of the situation and the position Halstead has taken burrowed under the covers, save for his head which pops out just enough so that he can see me.

He wonders why we call him a kid.

"But that time...that time it was new. I think even if it wasn't, you probably wouldn't have reacted much differently. Do you remember what happened? What happened after we found you splayed out on the floor, screaming your lungs out up here?" His eyes won't find me, which tells me he does now, he knows.

"You almost broke my neck. Again. " I add with a slight huff, referring to the first time he went full Jackie Chan on us.

"And then you sat in the fetal position for two hours. Alone. In the corner. With the lights off. You would throw something at us every time one of us tried to move closer to you. After about three hours, I decided I'd had enough, and despite you trying to shatter a vase on my head I finally dragged you out of your little hidey hole. "

"You fought us for a while. Then you just...broke." Once again I see the slight shame in his eyes as I mention him showing hard emotion in front of me.

"You and I sat-" I point to a small space near the bed.

"-right there! Right there for another two hours. You poured about ten gallons of water into my shirt you were crying so hard. _Then_, because you like to do things the easy way-"I shoot a pointed stare at him, making my sarcasm clear. His eyes have met mine now, and the beg me, with all his anguish, to stop. I know he's reliving it again.

"-you decided you were going to fall into a catatonic state for near over half a day. You wouldn't talk, wouldn't eat, wouldn't even move, you just stayed dead weight while Olinski and I lugged you up on the bed. When you finally did decide to come back from whatever internal torture you found for yourself, it was to go to the bathroom."

"You still owe me for the mirror you punched by the way." I add as an afterthought, remembering how I watched him stare at his face for no more than a minute before he slammed his fist repeatedly into the reflective surface. I had run, yelling his name, to catch his fist before he could hit the glass again. This had prompted Al to run into the room only to catch Jays other arm as he tried to swing at me. He fought, and despite there only being two of us, we got him subdued on floor, unlike the first time I tried to stop him in my house. You know, when he knocked his entire team unconscious.

"The mirror deserved it." The pile of blankets grumbles softly, before he pokes his head out slightly, glaring at me.

"You aren't going to leave are you."

"No."

"Why?"

"It is _my _house." I chuckle, receiving a weak glare in return.

"What do you want to hear from me Voight." My eyebrows raise slightly at his near desperate tone, although I make no effort to comment on it.

"Oh, I don't need to hear anything from you. You, however, do."

"Look, I'm really tired can we do this late-"

"It wasn't your fault Jay." I state, cutting off his pathetic sigh. He stares at me, slight confusion crossing his features.

"Nadia...Erin...Will...they aren't your fault." Something flickers briefly across his face, but not brief enough for me to miss it. Rage. It's the first time in a month I've seen him expression some form of true emotion besides sadness and fear. Of course, I've touched on the three subjects he refuses to discuss.

"How dare you?!" He hisses, sitting up and pushing the blankets back.

"How dare you say his name, say _their _names, say _that_ to me?!" I blink in response. He stands and continues his rant.

"Are you deaf, stupid, or both?! You know what happened with Will, I've told you every last detail a million times! It was my stupidity that let Nadia walk out to her car that night, my stupidity that got her killed and my stupid decision to let Erin go! So don't fuck with me, okay, not you! Out of all people, you don't get to mess with me, not after this, not after what you've done!" Jays standing no more than three feet in front of me now, intent on getting in my face while he yells.

"You really think you can change fate?" I ask, my voice a quiet contrast to his.

There's a small moment of silence, where Halstead looks as though I've slapped him with my words. He blinks, shocked before asking "What?" in a horribly hoarse voice.

"Do you really think you are so much bigger than this world that you could have changed the inevitable? That you _choose_ to let Nadia and Will die? Oh right, I forgot, you can see the future. My mistake." When he doesn't respond to my sarcasm save for the singular blink on his shell shocked face, I know that finally, _finally_ I'm getting through to him.

"Yates latched on to Nadia the second he first saw her, when we let him walk right through our precinct. He was a rapist and a murderer but because we couldn't prove it, we let him walk out like an innocent civilian. _I _let my guard down. If Yates had never seen her, had never met her, the odds of him choosing her would have been remote at best. I let him see all of us; I might as well have served her up on a silver platter for him. _That_ is on me. It is my job to keep my team safe. I failed. So if Nadia's death is to land on _anyone_ besides the bastard that killed her, it me. Not you. Not Erin. Me and only me."

Halstead sits back on the edge of the mattress, seemingly exhausted by the conversation. I wait, watching for some other reaction, some other words that are sure to come. And when they do appear floating invisibly through the air to my ears, they are not the ones I expected.

"It was about you."

"What?"

"That dream. That very first one. It was...centered around you. All of you." My confusion must be evident because he continues, elaborating as he explains.

"It was the first time, in a while really, that I'd had a nightmare with anyone connected to intelligence." I immediately think of Erin, and the time we went to New York to find her brother. For almost a week after she got out of the hospital, Jay had been acting weird around her. I had just assumed they fought about something, but now…

"Erin?" I ask. He rubs the back of his neck, looking slightly sheepish.

"That obvious?"

"Jay, you've had a crush on her since two week after you met her, it's pretty obvious."

"Yeah, well it wasn't to me. Not until after New York." He huffs out.

"But it wasn't until I found myself in your living room after trying to let myself bleed out, that I realized I couldn't lose another person. I guess I included myself in that category."

"Why?" He lifts his gaze from the carpet to stare at me for a moment, before really considering his words.

"Because I knew what would happen, if I really did go. If I left, there would be no getting Erin back. The team would fall apart more than it already had… and you...you would take this harder than anyone. You feel responsible for all of us, even when you shouldn't. I-I couldn't do that. Not to you guys." A sudden realization hits me as he finishes speaking.

"We died. "

"W-What?" The fear in his voice is audible, and I know I've found the reason.

"In your nightmare. We died and it was directly your fault." He stares at me, slightly awestruck, then nods.

"Yeah. Afterwards, I couldn't tell, if I was really here or if…" I nod, slowly, not in understanding of his experience, but in understanding of his past actions. All that time, when he was unresponsive, he was going over every detail, his mind desperately trying decide which reality to live in. Jay pushes a breath through his lips.

"I wanna see her."

"You sure?"

"Yes." I gaze at him for a moment, trying to see if he really _is_ ready for this.

"Fine." I say.

"But you get to the three habaneros down there everything that's happened, from Will's death, to present."

"Ew."

"Jay…"

"Fine! Let's go!" And with that he stands and bounds out of the room and down the stairs, leaving me to sit alone for a few moments, marveling at the fact that that conversation worked not once, but twice, on equally stubborn men. I chuckle, looking at my phone noticing the missed call from Lindsay. Standing I glance at the picture of beautiful woman with a smile on her face that sits on the unused dresser behind me.

"Thank's Camille." I whisper, walking out the room and downstairs to join my healing family.

* * *

**Well, that sucked. Really. Was gross. Also, its possible I might post a one shot before I update any of my others, probably because I havent started writing for any of them...except this one. Yeah. I'm the definition of disorganized. Hopefully you guys got something good out of this and if you did I would really appreciate it if you could leave a review so I know I'm not losing my mine. :(**

**Thanks for reading.**


	12. Right On Time

**Yes, yes I know. I actually had to force myself to stop writing for my other two stories to do this. I don't know what it is, but I just can't write for this story. Thankfully however, it is almost complete. Just his chapter, and possibly one more before the epilogue.**

**Like holy fuck guys. I'm finally completing this, my first at length story. **

**Pretty proud.**

**Also just wanted to thank everyone who has left a review. You guys are the reason this story is what it is. Thank you.**

* * *

**Erin's P.O.V.**

Just so we are clear, I am not insane. Despite all the reason's I'm sure there is disproving that fact (thinking Jay was dead without a body, not thinking he was dead solely because some voice on a cell phone told me so, the plain fact that the location of the phone was a deathbed confession, and/or the only person I'm mad at is going to be Antonio, because he stole my favorite pen off my desk.)

(I'm serious. It was purple. My fav.)

I am _not _insane.

Possible mentally unstable for obvious reasons (see above), but definitely not insane.

Einstein says otherwise.

Here I am sitting in Jay's apartment, constantly walking back and forth between the rooms, because I for some reason can't comprehend what I'm seeing.

Einstein defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

Which is me. Right now. Walking from his bedroom, to his closet, to the bathroom, back into the living room. Hallway. Kitchen. Double check and repeat.

Maybe I didn't get as far as I thought on my car ride home. At least not emotionally. Then again, I refused to water the seeds of hope in my heart. Not until I found evidence that he was alive.

Okay, okay, here goes: Reasons why Jay could possible be alive.

Thesis, circumstantial evidence, and confusion all done by Erin Lindsay.

Let's start with the facts.

First off, his keys, phone and gun are gone. Totally plausible explanation-he took them with him when he left to go die or whatever. Or they were taken for evidence. CSU was done with the place weeks ago, but Voight requested the landlord give them time to clean it out. Only reason I'm here right now.

Also missing are his leather jacket and black hoodie combo thingy (could have worn it when he left), car, (probably drove it when he left), and his badge (the crime scene unit would have taken that too.)

Okay. Good, more than likely reasons for said missing items. No reason to get hopes up.

Here is my hypothesis, and the only reason I would dare to go back to his home. If Jay is alive, then he's going to need somethings. Money. Possibly a shower. Maybe a bandaid or two. What better place to get these things than his own house?

Let's move to research activity, part one.

Before driving to his apartment, I had to do a little sleuthing. Not point in unlocking Jay's empty apartment only to walk in and find it's not so empty. I knew the landlord was going to hold it, but it'd been a month. If I was him, I'd only hold it so long before putting it back up on the market. No need to walk in a drunk couple fucking on the floor. I just flashed my badge, said I had some follow up questions, and found out that not only was it still vacant, but someone had been paying the rent.

Guess who? Yep. Hank Voight had been slapping down the cash just to keep the apartment intact. Probably for me, so that when I got on my feet, I could still have part of him left. Something like that, right?

Research activity, part two.

Driving relaxed and calm all the way to the precinct, I snuck around Platt to find Mouse.

Side note: Mouse, out of all of us, should have been just as much affected by Jay's death as the rest of us. I expected him to go back to the drugs. He probably thought the same of me.

Nothing. He was at the funeral, but didn't speak. According to Voights constant updates, he's never missed a day or been late for work, which is more than he can say for the rest of intelligence. No sign of grief at his best friend. No remorse. Nothing.

Anyway. Back to the point.

Mouse took a little persuading, but finally gave me the evidence sheet from Will Halstead's homicide.

End results? Apartment was still open, I had the key, no one knew I was back, and I had the list of everything impounded in evidence to compare to what is in his apartment.

This led to experiment number one. Drive back to the apartment, a little less calm, a little less relaxed and try to ignore the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Stop it nervousness. I don't need this right now.

Attempting to keep a clear head I searched the apartment, deciding to make a list of things missing, of which there was a lot.

Body's gone. Blood gone. No murder weapon, or second body thanks to Jay's previous actions. Obvious things that definitely should be gone and coincide to what's in evidence impound.

Good. Yes. That makes sense. Okay.

Keys, car, gun, badge, and phone. None on the evidence sheet, so all must have gone missing along with Jay's supposed body. The tracking units on his car and phone have been disabled, information courtesy of Mouse. I was also informed that Halstead knows how to do that, so coinciding with the 'hes dead' theory, he wouldn't want us to find him, so that also does kinda make sense.

That's where the sanity of it all stops. After that, things get really, _really_, weird.

Phone charger, toothbrush, favorite fuzzy pj's, multiple pairs of underwear, two pairs of blue jeans, a pair of sweats, some socks, four shirts, his running shoes, razor, his absolute favorite hockey sweatshirt and a picture of Him, Will, and I from a night at Molly's. All missing.

You wanna know what's not on the Evidence sheet? (Not that CSU would take that stuff in the first place but)

You also wanna know what you wouldn't take with you if were just going to drive somewhere and die?

Ding, ding, ding! You guessed correctly! None of the above.

SO, now we are up to current events. Me running around his apartment, staring at the spots where all these things should have been. Yes, I understand his clothes could have been in the wash. The same thought occurred to me. So I checked, and sure enough, there was nothing there. No the clothes were just _missing_.

How?! What is the rational explanation to that?!

Unable to explain it, I had simply gone from room to room to room waiting for my delusional brain to stop imagining things. Staring at the same things, leaving and coming back expecting them to be different. Hence: Einstein.

Finally, after staring at his nightstand where the picture used to, I decided to entertain the idea that I had jumped to conclusions that night. Maybe he wasn't dead.

The thought brings tears to my eyes and immediately I'm gasping and trying not bawl into his pillow. Okay, alright. Bad Idea. The tears weren't of pain, but of pure relief from heartache. Still, I had cried enough in the last twenty four hours, and I wanted to dry out a little.

I found a viable solution. He's dead. Definitely dead. Let's stay with that. My lungs calm as I force myself to breath slowly.

But if...if for some reason he _wasn't_…

'_Just pretend here Erin. Pretend.'_

If he wasn't dead...where the hell would he go? Obviously not me, or any of intelligence. I doubt that he would have been able to face us after he escaped Voight's house. None of us blame him, but he would be so ashamed of himself he wouldn't come near us.

Unless…

Unless he didn't go to anyone right away. I didn't think that there would ever be a point that Jay would reach where he would kill himself. I said something sympathetic one time about it and he got all quiet and angry. Said it was the ultimate act of selfishness. Called it pure cowardice. Basically spat out the words before going mute for the rest of the car ride.

However, after Will, he was so broken, so lost...I could see it. For some reason the thought made total sense up until now. Recalling that conversation I can't fathom Jay ever being able to go through with it.

When he wasn't at the funeral, it solidified the fact that he was gone. No way he'd miss it. The fault in that is, we base the fact upon our own eyes. Just because we didn't see him, doesn't mean he wasn't there.

Right. Okay. So let's say, after disposing of the perps body and the rest of the evidence, he tried to let go. Tried to do it. But for reason he couldn't find the resolve. So he thinks about his brother, trying to find the reason, and he realizes that he'd miss the funeral. He thinks he'll stick around until then, to see his brother one last time. He gets there, sees us before we see him, and he panics. Hides somewhere, but not so far that he can't see it.

But seeing us backfires, because he realizes that he can't just leave, just abandon us to suffer in grief. He realizes that he doesn't want to hurt us and by leaving, he is killing us. So he decides to stick around.

This thought process raises many a question. Where is he now? Where'd he go after that? Why didn't he come back to us? Or to that girl, Rachel? Jay told me about her when he was dying, it would only make sense to go to her when he didn't want to us. If that's the case then she can do some really good acting. But, no, I feel this isn't the case. There was real worry in her voice when I talked to her. She wasn't surprised at the information I gave her, but she was still worried about him.

So if he didn't go to her and didn't come back to me, that only leaves the rest of the team to contend with. And that's assuming he went to one of them at all. Ruzek and Atwater are out, they can't keep a secret and Jay doesn't really trust them as much as they'd like to think. Nothing personal. Just Jay.

That leaves Al, Antoni, and-

"Son of a bitch." My head snaps up a the words leave my mouth, hand reaching to snatch my phone from the side of the bed where I threw it earlier. I quickly dial a number, fingers drumming impatiently on my thigh. The second I hear the familiar voice message I am up, moving quickly around the home to find my keys before exiting and locking the place.

My drive to his house is aggressive at best and more than once I consider throwing on the lights just to get around people. I restrain myself though, deciding it would be better to arrive in one piece. I park on the side of the road, right in front of the porch and in a clear view of multiple windows. Turning the car off I try to prepare myself for what I'm going to find inside.

* * *

**Olinski's P.O.V.**

"...and it's kinda been lingering since then." I gaze around the room. Jay is trying to shrink into his sweatshirt, way past uncomfortable from all the side glances and words centered around him. Halstead and Voight walked into our little gossip session just as I was getting to the second half of Jay's physical crisis-the infection. Voight seemed to approve of my storytelling, while Dawson looks like he want to punch something and Adam seems to want to puke.

It's dead quiet in the kitchen, allowing me to reminisce about the time before we really caught the gist of it. Back when I thought we couldn't move on from this. Voight had managed to convince me other wise and afterwards I had volunteered to go check on the kid.

…

_It is dark in the room, partially from the fact that it was nine at night and partially because we had closed every curtain in the house, afraid of being discovered by a passing citizen. I walk quietly towards the dark lump on the bed. Even before touching him I know something's wrong. There are a ton of blankets covering him, probably pulled by his weak hands on top of his. _

_Despite the what must be obvious warmth, his body shakes, shivering as though freezing. A hand to his sweat covered forehead reveals the burning fever that seems to have taken the man. I call out to Voight, then go in search of some tylenol or other fever reducer. _

_Returning, I find Voight in the room crouched by Halstead. I hold up the bottle of pills, rattleing them to get Hank's attention. I am both surprised and concerned by the amount of worry on his face when he looks at me._

"_Al, I can't wake him up."_

"_What?!" Crossing the room in two strides I kneel next to the bed. Like Voight, I try every way I know to rouse a person, ever resorting to slapping the sleeping man. I get little more than a moan, followed by the lolling of his head on the damp pillow. Watching closely I can see his eyes moving beneath their lids. He moan again and shifts slightly in the bed, though still refuses to return to consciousness._

"_Well...Fuck." I mutter, sharing a glance with Hank._

_Over the next couple of hours he gets worse and worse. The parlor of his skin turns deathly pale, all color leeched out of it by dehydration. His breathing becomes erratic, ranging from normal, to much to slow, only to pick up until he's almost panting. The moan never stop and the entire time he's constantly restless, rolling his head back and forth, sometimes lifting it slightly only to plop back down exhausted on the pillow._

_It isn't until about one in the morning does his constant agony start to taper. By two he is completely still and silent, his chest barely moving to indicate his miniscule breathes. I made Voight go out at one, telling him to do whatever it takes to find penicillin._

_Tell tale read streaks run across Jay's abdomen, stemming directly from the bullet wound in his side. _

"_Stay with me Jay." I whisper, breaking the deathly silence in the room._

"_Stay with us."_

…

"You do realize that if Voight hadn't come back in the next like five minutes, he'd be dead." I glare at my protege.

"Adam, trust me. I am perfectly aware." He bows his head, running a hand through his hair.

"This is insane." He mumbles. I hear the sound of a car pulling up out front, but pay little thought to it. The parking is insane on this street. I had to park almost three houses over, so it's more than likely the car is just another resident that lives somewhere on the block.

That is until Hanks phone vibrates. It's sitting on the counter next to Dawson who scoops it up, taking a glance at the screen. His face changes to one of sheer panic.

"What's wrong?" I ask, placing my mug of coffee on the table and walking over to him.

"It's Erin." He rasps. For a moment I'm afraid something's happened to her, until Dawson shows me the message screen. Two missed calls from Lindsay. And below that a text, saying she was outside the house. Jerking my head up I look first at Halstead, then to Voight.

"Lindsay's _here_." Voight's eyes widen.

"Now?!"

"Yes, _now_! She said she just pulled up and would be inside in a minute!" Halstead looks like he's going to puke or pass out or both. For the sack of his sanity, I quickly volunteer Voight to get ride of her.

"How the hell am I supposed to get rid of her?! Have you met Erin Lindsay?!" I glance at Jay who's white as a sheet and almost hyperventilating. Turning my gaze back in Hank, I hear footsteps on the stairs.

"Yes, I have! And I've also met Hank Voight, her boss and father! Now go!"

* * *

**Erin's P.O.V.**

He meets me before I can even put the key in what I thought was a locked door.

"Erin?" His voice is soft, and I think back to the last month where I purposely avoided him and everyone else. He was worried.

Sighing, I'm about to apologize when I realize something.

"Hank, look, I'm sorry I-...wait, have you been home this whole time?" My eyes narrow in annoyment, but also puzzlement. Why is he home? Shouldn't he be working! And if he's home he should have heard at least one of my phone calls.

"...yeah."

"And you just...what, decided you didn't need your phone?" He glances at my appearance, seemingly surprised at how not junkie I look.

"Where have you been Erin?" The question, although easy to play off, comes as a surprise to me. I bite my lip then decide for the aggressive approach.

"Places." I say, stubbornly crossing my arms over my chest, trying to hide the seeping chill that seems to emanate from the dark clouds above. Speaking of which, the clouds that then proceed to start precipitating huge, fat, rain drops. Ones that hit me no problem, standing under Voights non-existent roof outcropping that he should have over his door.

But of course doesn't, so I get soaked. Voight doesn't flinch under the cold water, but instead notices the badge I have partially hidden in my hand.

"You went to Jay's apartment." Is that fear in his eyes?

"Yes." My voice suddenly turns rough, my brain trying to cancel the emotion and hope.

"Why Erin? What did you want to find there?" I swallow hard, feeling the chill in my bones. How do I answer that? What if I'm wrong and he's not a part of this and telling just makes him think I'm crazy? Another, better thought occurs to me. It's pouring. Why the fuck is he trying to do this outside?

"No." I push out through gritted teeth, now determined to get past him and in the house.

"Erin-" He sighs, and before I know what I'm saying, it happens.

"No, Voight. I'm not doing this. I'm not going to have this talk with you, not until I know he's dead."

"What?!" My eyes widen as I realize what I just let slip.

_'Oh shit.'_

Groaning, I push past him towards the door, intent on getting out of the rain. I know he heard what I said, clear as day, so I know there's no getting around confronting him about it. However I am not going to have a yelling match with my surrogate father on his porch.

"Erin-" I don't listen, instead grabbing the door handle.

"Voight, Lets do this inside okay, I just want to-" I sigh, ignoring his facial expression that now clearly says fear.

"No, Lindsay wait-" Ignoring his plea, I turn and push open the door, stepping inside.

* * *

He's there. He's standing right there. I know immediately somethings different. He is different. Weakened, yet stronger. I feel like he is where I was before I left the cabin. Finding his strength again, but not totally healed. He is not ready for me, for this, not yet.

Pale skin, shaky hands, a slight wheeze in his breath and an indescribable amount of fear plastered all over his face.

I know what they expect. They think I'm going to freak, starting crying or yelling or hyperventilating or something. Something people normally do when they find out their lover whom they thought was dead was, in fact, alive.

I don't do any of these things however. I have worked through that part. I have pushed past my anger, the anger I felt when I found out that Voight was hiding something from me. I had allowed my hope to bloom, to become almost an expectation, that that 'something' was a 'someone.' Because let's face it, it's not everyday you get a second chance for someone to live, even if they were never really dead in the first place.

I place my keys on the counter, the badge already shoved in pocket for safekeeping. The steps forward are small and quiet as I cross the room. No one speaks, no one moves, although Jay seems to just grow more and more agitated with each step. I stop for a small moment right in front of him. His face is shied away from me, eyes to the floor. He seems to hold his breath.

In that instant I want nothing more than to know he's alive. So I lean forward slightly and press my face into his chest, arms wrapping around his back in a hard hug. I feel him stiffen more, if ever possible, under my touch. I squeeze him slightly.

"It's okay to breath you know." I mumble into his shirt. This seems to break the wall in him. He lets out a shuttering laugh that turns into a small sob which he quickly chokes off. I lean back, releasing him from the embrace. He still won't meet my eyes.

"Jay." I whisper. "Look at me." He slowly raises his chin, blue orbs darkened with fear and haunted by something worse that finally gaze at my face.

"It's ok." I keep my voice low, aware of everyone else in the room. These words are for him and him only and while I don't blame Jay for any of this I know he still needs to hear what I'm about to say.

"It's alright, Jay. I forgive you." Those eyes, which had fallen slightly suddenly snap up to meet mine and in that moment I can see the shift. He needed to hear it, from me and no one else, because everyone else had forgiven him when he didn't need it. I am the last person to know he was and he was _so scared_ I was going to hate him for it.

_"I forgive you."_ I whisper again, still to quiet for anyone to hear. I understand it now, understand why. I am that last of them. The last of those like Will. His Mom was probably one of them too. One of the people whom he can not live without, but knows one small mistake could make us disappear forever without actually leaving.

Naturally, Jay does the simple thing. He gives me a nod. Then goes dead white and collapses.

* * *

**Well...that was unexpected.**

**Review?**


	13. I Like Dirt

**2nd to last? Actually I think 3rd. Yeah. Two more after this.**

**Maybe. I think. Don't know yet.**

* * *

**Alvin's P.O.V.**

"Wait...so he had a relapse?"

"Of sorts yes. To put it in plainer terms, the infection had essentially settled deep inside the wound-hence why we had to take him to surgery. We had to remove the abscess tissue, remove a couple old fragments from the bullet, and then perform damage control when we resewed it. He'll have one hell of a scar when it finally heals."

"But he will be ok, right?" Erin has this look on her face that seems to dare Doctor Choi to disagree with her. He, unfortunately, does.

"Honestly? I can't tell you that right now. He shouldn't have gone this long without having collapsed like he did. The stress on his body has been extremely high and since he never came to the hospital to remove the bullet in the first place, it's also very possible he will have some form of metallic poisoning. I will know more when the blood tests come back, but until that time, I really can't tell you much more than I already have."

"How long will you keep him on the ventilator?" The words slip from my mouth, now officially in a tone I can identify as the one I always use when the kid fucks up. The doctor is clearly uncomfortable answering that one, but does it anyway. I think he's kinda scared of Erin.

"Again, I can't really tell you that. I couldn't even give you an accurate guess."

"Is there anything you _can_ tell us?" Lindsay says flatly. The poor dude just glances at her before returning his gaze to me.

"The next twelve hours are really crucial. You need to understand...right now, the odds of him making it through the night are very low. That said, if he does, and the infection starts to recede...we could probably take him off the machine in the next two to three days. It all depends of if and how fast the infection starts to dissipate. In a healthy person it would be bad and Jay's body is weak. I'm sorry. I wish I had better news. Perhaps if he hadn't hidden it from you, we may have caught it earlier." With that he excuses himself, leaving us to wander slowly to Halstead's room.

Erin had called 911 before any of us could really register what was going on. He got to the hospital delusional and panicky, barely semiconscious but still able to freak out around a needle. It wasn't as nerve wracking as when it was just Voight and I, but it definitely instilled heart ache.

While they were holding him down to get a sedative into him, he kept screaming for Will and someone called 'Rachel'. Mostly his brother though. He was still begging for him when the drugs finally sent him into unconsciousness. Which left the group in the waiting area, having to tell a hastily fabricated story about Halstead telling us he was fine then just collapsing on a call. For anyone who isn't up to date with the last month, this actually sounds exactly like what Jay would do.

In fact he's done it before. Like that time he had a migraine after getting hit in the head by a crowbar but didn't tell any of us and just ended up passing out and having a seizure on some stairs.

I am still mad at him for that.

The group enters the room quietly save for Ruzek who volunteers to raid the cafeteria and doesn't enter at all. I'm more convinced he's not ready to see Halstead like he is, as he just learned what really happened to his friend. I can understand that. I don't think I'd ever be ready to see the kid like this. But Voight and I put him here, so I owe him to have the decency to stay with him while he's dying. Besides, Dawson volunteers to go with him so I know my protege won't be aloud to do anything stupid.

The room is dark and quiet, except for the soft sounds made by the machines attached to the man. A soft light gives off an eery glow above the head of the bed, giving off enough detail so that none of us have to stumble into things to find our chairs. True to her word, a nurse we talked to earlier promised to have a couple chairs placed in the room. Erin instantly takes the one next to her partners bedside while I take the other closer to the window and Voight leans against the wall.

It's quiet for a while, a stint of silence where we all are able to work through the most recent events and even skim those decisions made weeks ago. After all, there has to be an exact moment where we knew we end up here: Jay with a tube shoved down his throat, a machine pushing air in and out of his lungs because his body is so far up shit creak he can't even maintain basic functions.

There has to be a point where we must have stopped and had, at least for a fleeting second, a thought that maybe our choice was a wrong one. It had to have been us right? One of us, all of us, we put him here. We did. We chose not to listen to reason, we chose not bring him to a hospital. We chose to honor his wish, instead of trying to use reason with him. But then it wasn't his wish was it? We were the ones to make the decision for him, that night, not so long ago.

We brought him to Voight's house, instead of a hospital, instead of getting him help. That night, when we decided to follow our hearts instead of heads, we doomed him to this. We put him on this path and I can't remember _why_.

I mean, yes, he was hurt, yes he was way past emotionally unstable, but he didn't do anything wrong. The man he killed had murdered his brother and was going to kill him. It was self defense. It was revenge. And after Will, he deserved to get that much.

No we took him with us because covering the truth and bending the law is what we do. We push aside acceptable risk and sideline the rules because they're constraining and as Hank put it, we can't do what we do if we are forced to follow criminal aiding laws. But this was the one time we should've played it by the book, we couldn't because Jay Halstead managed to worm his way into our hearts and we were scared.

We thought we knew him and because of that we thought we could fix him. By ourselves. Alone as family. It's what we are supposed to be able to do.

And we couldn't. We failed. And we just about killed the man we were supposed be saving.

"What are we doing?" I whisper. Hank shoots me a glance, clearly asking my meaning. Erin doesn't acknowledge.

"Is there even a point to this anymore? All the lies, all the cover up? What gave us the right do it in the first place?" Voight doesn't have an answer for me and I didn't expect him to. The guilt in his eyes is enough.

Erin the other hand, seems to have one.

"No one. That's the point." I raise my head to look at her, sitting back in the uncomfortable chair. She's carefully laid her hand in Jay's, thumb tracing patterns on the back of his hand.

"No one had to. Because it's not a right, it is a decision, one that Jay makes-one that _we all make_ every time we strap that badge to our hip."

"So what our badge represent lies now?" She shoots me a sharp glance, eyes telling me to grow up.

"No. It represents love and hope and..._courage_ to do whatever we have to do, to keep people safe. I don't know about you Al, but I know _my_ badge lets me help people. If I have to lie to do that, so be it." Her voice matches her answer, stronger and with more steel than I expected. I give her strange look.

"Where'd you go Erin? Where did you come from?"

No answer. She just keeps staring at the Jay's hand in hers, ever so gently rubbing circles on his wrist. A weird gesture, but then everything about Erin has been weird. Like how after three weeks of very little contact where she was clearly lost in grief, she suddenly shows up at her father's house and isn't fazed at all that her dead boyfriend isn't actually dead.

How she hasn't shown anger to Voight or to Jay for hiding from her. How she seems stronger and braver and more _Erin_ than I have ever seen her. Which is kind of wrong in so many ways because the love of her life is dying and I know how she reacted to nadia. So why the hell is she so calm? _How_ is she so calm? She literally just walked over and gave Jay a hug, like he just got back from a long vacation instead of the grave. That implies that she knew. And since we certainly didn't tell her, it begs the question:

"Who told you he was alive?"

Erin swallows, squirming slightly in her seat though never letting go of Halstead's limp hand. I send a glance to Voight who has been silent this whole time, brooding in the shadow of the room. For the first time today Lindsay actually seem timid. When she speaks, it's like she's less unsure of her words and more wary of whether or not she should be saying them.

"I know...I know who she is."

"She?"

"The girl. The one he was asking for."

"Rachel."

"Yes."

"Well who is she then?" Erin flicks her eyes up to me for a moment before they quickly fall back to the hand she's been so completely captivated by.

"We aren't the only ones with secrets Al. Jay knew who we were when he walked up to intelligence. In fact, he was counting on it."

"Counting on what, exactly?" Suddenly her gaze snaps to mine and I'm captivated by the intensity I see in her eyes.

"On us. To understand." Just then Antonio walks in the room, a nurse behind him. In the few minutes the woman takes to asses Jay, Dawson quickly informs us that Ruzek is still on the roof where they ended up after hitting the cafeteria that was ironically out of coffee. Said he needed some air or something. He brings in another chair and I don't bother informing him of the two sentence conversation I've basically had with Erin.

The nurse leaves and my glare is pinned on Lindsay again, who seems to have decided what she's going to say...if she ever opens her mouth.

"You gonna tell us or…" She shoots me scorching look before looking at Dason.

"He's mad because I got sassy with him."

"Erin, the king of sass is lying next to you with a tube down his throat. Get on with it." With that the tension leaves her and the room, finally a small gracing Erin's lips.

"I went to the cabin. In Wisconsin."

"Wait seriously? That exists?"

"Yah. And he told me about what it...really is." She looks around the room.

"You remember last fall when Halstead was shot? After Nadai died and I had just gotten my badge back?"

Collective sighs and nods are expressed throughout the group. That day was...well, you wake up at two in the morning to fifteen missed calls from your boss and his daughter. Then call them back only to find yourself rushing to an apartment instead of directly to the hospital because your adopted niece needed to change out of her clothes that are stained with two pints of her partners blood.

Wasn't fun.

"We remember."

"Well, when he was...gushing blood underneath me, he told about it. As well as he could anyway." There's a pause, in the silence between her words we all flicker a look at Halstead lying pale on the bed as his chest rises and falls artificially.

"I-I went there. Drove up. There's shitty cell coverage and I knew you'd all be worried but...you wouldn't be able to track me and I knew I could be alone. So I went. I ended up having an 'unintended' sleepover after a tearfest." She puts a pair of air quotes around unintended, leaving me to believe that she didn't mean to sleep there, but she wasn't actually planning on doing anything else.

"I talked to her. Albeit on the phone but still. You can get everything you need to know about this girl just from her words and her voice. And man if you could've heard her...she was just so different. The way she talked, her diction, her tone...it all conveyed this sense of spirit and heroism. She didn't know me yet it was like she genuinely cared and at the same time it was a tough love. Rachel is...in a word: power. Like the kind that good people wish they had because if they did they could do so much to help others." She smirks, clearly recalling something from their conversation. Erin looks at Voight.

"I don't know if you'd like her or hate her. But I do know that at some point you'd come to respect her. If you ever met it'd be the showdown of the century." Sadness seems to take hold of her once again, her eyes dropping back to the bed where she squeezes Jay's hand. Lifting her head again she looks with longing, glassy eyed at Jay.

"I told her everything. I don't know why-well actually at that point I thought Halstead was dead so I didn't quite give a fuck-but none the less. I told her everything I could remember from the moment I first met Jay to current events at that time. She sounded so confused at the end. When I told her about the funeral and how he was supposed to be dead. That's when she told me." Erin barely blinks, her hazel eyes flitting up and down Halstead's lax face, analyzing every detail.

"And I didn't believe her at first either. I came back, went to the precinct then to his apartment. I found things, evidence that didn't match what I thought to be the truth." The last word makes me cringe.

"I was afraid that if he was alive, he wouldn't be the Jay I had been mourning. I was angry and scared and angry that I was scared. I just wanted him back. And then you-" she nods to Hank.

"-are an absolute horrible liar when it concerns him. I knew before I even walked through the door that he was alive, but if I hadn't, the look on your face when I said his name would have sealed the idea. You looked like the kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar." A small round of chuckles is earned, all of us quickly sobering afterwards to stare at different spots in room as sadness falls upon the conversation, everyone realizing that the person in the center of the conversation might not make it through the night.

"He's going to be okay right?" Erin asks, her voice having lost the strength from before.

"He's going to be fine." Voight, for the first time since we walked into the room, speaks. I let my muscles relax, taking off the old knit cap on my head and running a hand through my thinning hair. Mentally berating myself for the thoughts and words from earlier I fix the old head piece back on its throne.

"Besides…" I add, shifting to get comfortable for the long night in the chair.

"...he has to wake up, so that we can all take a turn kicking his ass for being so afraid of hospitals he ends up in one."

….

**Voight's P.O.V.**

Well, the kid didn't die. He held on through the night and deep into the morning where we were all sent home and he was taken back down to the O.R. to finally get the wound fully cleaned and stitched. After I made sure the team got a full 12 hours away from the hospital we all gathered back at the precinct. I returned Lindsay's badge from where it was kept in my desk for safekeeping. I replace it with Halstead's.

We spend a couple hours doing paperwork and organizing case files while simultaneously catching Erin up on the current open ones. It's then we get friendly call from the hospital, informing us of the decision to take Jay off the ventilator. It's made clear he isn't going to wake up soon, but I make it clear if anyone wants to go they can.

Really, we all end up burying ourselves in work, chasing leads and compiling information. I am no exception. In fact by the end of the day we find ourselves raiding an apartment, multiple arrest warrants completed without any gun fire. Afterwards, Ruzek volunteers to buy, so for the first time in a month I end up with a scotch in my hand sitting next to Alvin on a bar stool in Molly's, the team wandering with smiles.

It's good. It feels almost normal again. But there is one thing really missing and soon I'm slapping a twenty on the counter and leaving my half finished glass on the counter and heading for my car.

The hospital is quiet when I get there, not many people there this late except for the night shift and those families waiting on loved ones, of which there are few. I confer with a nurse on my detectives condition and she informs me they are going to be moving him down to the recovery ward and out of ICU. She is more than hesitant to let me in to see him, visiting hours long over, but something in my voice must convey the urgency and it only takes a flash of my badge to gain me access after that.

The room is dark like before, only this time the light only comes from the machines and a small emergency bulb that sits in the corner of the room. Still, I can see the out line of his face, see the slight color that's returned to his skin. He looks a lot better without the ventilator. Jays eyes are closed with sleep, a peaceful look on his face that I've never seen, but makes him look teen years younger, as if he was a teenager almost.

"You remind me of him, you know."

Nothing moves at the sound of my voice shattering the quiet. Thankfully Jay gives no sign of waking up, but I really have to force myself to think about what I'm doing. I've always hated people who couldn't say things to my face. And I hate hypocrites. So really, am I doing this because he's out cold and won't hear a thing I'm saying or because what I'm saying needs to be said.

Deciding on the latter I clear my throat then continue.

"You acted just like him. Same stubbornness of Justin, same aggressiveness. It scared the shit out of me to have that partnered with Erin. Thought for sure you were going to let your little crush on her get in the way and then some one would get killed because you weren't paying attention. Then Erin would blame herself, I'd blame you and you wouldn't know why. I could see if, clear as day the second Antonio brought you up. It's why I told you to stay away from her. I didn't want you to hurt her."

I stop for a moment, remembering the conversation I had with my senior intelligence officer after the kid had walked up those steps. Dawson had defended him with vigor and I needed to respect that. So I let him stay and for a while it looked like the biggest mistake.

"I was wrong." The words answer both my thoughts and one sided conversation.

"I was wrong about you and I was wrong you and Erin. I mistook your aggressiveness for brashness, when really it was passion, the same that everyone in intelligence has. And that stubbornness is the same that I have, except you use yours to put yourself at risk for other people, where as I am mostly limited to working the political side of that endeavor." I think of all the interrogations I've performed. "But then again maybe not."

"...you've grown so much kid, since you first joined the unit. You and Erin both. You've grown together and I've honestly never seen a pair of partners so attuned to each other. It hasn't gotten in your way and it probably saved Erin, even though you had to get kidnapped to remind her of the love she has for you. And then now, after you disappeared...god you'd be so proud of her. She was so strong today even though she was sitting next to you, her half dead, back from the dead partner."

Pausing to catch my breathe I notice a slight twitch of his eye lids, such a miniscule movement I think I've imagined it. Nothing else happens after that that would indicate him waking up so after checking my watch and noting I've been here for almost an hour I continue my little speech.

"Then with Will I thought...I thought that it broke you. I thought that he would be the one, not us or Erin or anything else. I knew how protective you were of him the second time I met you, when we tried to interrogate him. Hadn't seen you that angry since the little hissy fit you threw after Maddie Callahan got shot. Yet some how, both times I knew you weren't doing it because you were being childish or selfish no you were doing it because you were scared and you felt helpless. That's why your brothers death hurt so much, because you believed it was your fault. You were supposed to protect him. And you didn't."

Alright, no way I imagined this twice, his eyes definitely twitched. Still there have been no jumps in the heart monitors and his breathing a stayed steady. Maybe he's just dreaming.

"But you see, the thing is, it was never your job to protect him against that. You couldn't have stopped it, no matter what you did. Some times things happen for a reason. I'm not saying that your brothers death was a positive event-however it did weird some semi positive results. For example…and I'll never repeat this...but I've gotten close to you Jay. I've seen that wounded side of your soul you have hidden from us. I've seen your demons and your darkness and I was there at your lowest."

'_At least I hope that was the lowest. If it wasn't I don't really want to know how low he can reach.'_

"And then...your stubbornness came out again. You proved me wrong and you didn't let the nightmares or the guilt brake you. You slowly moved your way back to where you needed to be. You managed to find some no existence courage to forgive yourself for what happened at my house. You let Antonio in, let him help you. You let Alvin and I help you. Then you found Room for Ruzek and while you weren't the same you were making an effort to get there." Another twitch, this time in his fingers. I'm starting to think maybe he is awake just faking his rest. Oh well. Now or never I guess.

"My point here kid...is I'm proud of you. And I'm proud to be able to call myself your Sargent."

It's quiet for a moment, my words seeming to hang in the open air. Then suddenly there's a soft sentence spoken, a sigh really, that brings me to look up into two sleepy blue green eyes.

"Oh good." He whispers sarcastically.

"Here I was scared I wouldn't get to wake up to a sappy chick flick moment, but you totally nailed it boss."

...

**Yay! All done! So yeah um maybe two more chapters probably one I'll see what I can do-**

**review?**


	14. Around The World

**Warning: tissues may be needed. Because while Erin has been in this story, the Linstead has not been there and I just watched the last episode and well, this is happening.**

**Its LINSTEAD LINSTEAD LINSTEEEEAAAAADDDDDD!**

**Second to last chapter y'all. Pride.**

* * *

**Erin's P.O.V.**

"You did not say that." The statement should be more of a question or something, but it comes out as a joking reprimand.

"You're damn right I did! I mean it was _Voight _of all people. I actually had no idea how to respond and that just slipped out and well, it was interesting after that."

"Still can't believe he didn't call me." I huff, buttoning his dark, navy blue shirt. It's gotta be my favorite on him, brings out the color in his eyes. Not that normally, he would need the extra push to look handsome, but his skin is still pale, face still drawn, and eyes still retaining that dull exhausted look he's had for the last two weeks.

"Erin, you were so exhausted, even if he did call you, you would have slept right through your ringer."

"Then he should have keep calling!"

"At which point you would have thrown your phone across the room." Rolling my eyes, I smack him in the bicep, turning back to face the bed where I retrieve my purse, stuffing my phone, makeup, money and other essentials into the small silver clutch. As I stand a strong pair of arms encircle my front, a warm chest meeting my back. He nuzzles my neck, lightly peppering it with kisses making the skin tingle.

"You okay?" He mumbles into my ear, nudging me with his nose when I refuse to turn my head to him. Instead I nod, tipping my head to the side in a small effort to drag my face away from his tantalizing touch. Unfortunately this only gives him greater access to my neck.

"Jay-" I gasp, breathlessly catching his hands as they start to slid lower. Sighing he pulls his hands back up around my upper abdomen, lightly squeezing me closer to him. Resting his head on my shoulder, I'm able to see his pouty face in the mirror. I know what he's trying to do, even if he doesn't.

The police and firefighter multitask association's charity ball will be the first thing in almost two months that we are going to go to as a couple. The first time in two months, where Jay has to be around a lot of people, a lot of noise, and a lot of expectations. Sure, he got used to the people in the hospital, and all of us were around as much as we could be, but it's not going to be anything compared to this. He's afraid, I know he's afraid, although I am just as scared to admit it as he is, because then it'd mean he isn't ready and we both so want him to be.

"You don't have do this tonight." I whisper, scared to break the calm silence we held moments before.

"We both know I do if I ever want to get my badge back."

"Jay you never lost it. Voight made sure of that. And you know that whenever you're ready to go back, it's going to be there, waiting for you." I turn to face him, still wrapped in his embrace.

"We don't want you to rush this. If you aren't ready then...you just aren't. That's all there is too it." A shadow crosses his face and I know I wasn't successful in hiding my disappointment. He pulls away.

"Jay…" He pulls on his suit jacket, snatching his wallet and phone to stowe in his pockets. I surge forward, mouth open to ramble some apology because really, it isn't fair of me to be angry or discouraged if he didn't go. I was worse than him after Nadia and he still stuck by me afterwards. I've no right to judge him yet…

"I'm not going to go backwards Erin. If I didn't think I didn't think I could do this, I wouldn't be." There's a note of doubt in the sentence, but I don't call him on it.

"I just-"

"Hey, Linds, I get it. You're scared if I don't take this first step now, I never will and then you'll be stuck with a depressed me, which would drive you insane, because you don't think you'd know how to fix it."

"Oh?" I say, a raised eyebrow in response to his half joking tone. "And how, would I, dare me say, figure out how to fix a depressed and mopey Jay Halstead?" Suddenly there's a pair of lips on mine, for some reason tasting oddly like that salty caramel they always do. Course he doesn't believe me about that one, but what's he to do, kiss himself to prove me wrong?

As he pulls away, I smile, giddiness flooding through me for a moment.

"Just like that." He murmurs before I pull him in for another. This one has the potential to lead to...other activities, but then my phone buzzes and I realize the time.

"Shit Halstead we're late!" He laughs at my change of mood, always thinking its funny when I'm flustered. Quickly I slip on my silver heels, keeping my eye on the man behind me as he stifles a groan bending over to tie his dress shoes. The infection may have finally run its course, but the aches and muscle pain from the fever have yet to subside. The doctor said it's like an aftershock for the body, telling me to imagine if I had just completed a really intense workout. I guess I can understand that. I mean if I was shot, (almost died from that), had an infection (almost die from that also) then have a massive bacterial spike of said infection, (literally get two inches from death on this one) all in the same three weeks, I would be sore afterwards as well.

We finally leave the apartment, (his of course) me locking it as he pings the elevator. Even though we have been going for walks every day when I get home from work, he still hasn't built up his strength to anywhere near what he used to be. And we are both going to need our energy to last through the night that is sure to be packed with music and alcohol that I'm going to have to keep him from.

Jay is still on his antibiotics and I don't want to have to be the stumbling drunk of a girlfriend so we both agreed to stick to nonalcoholic beverages tonight. As I drive through River North, I take a moment to double check our outfits and make sure we don't have some horrible wardrobe malfunction. Jay's dark navy shirt matches my open backed, empire waist dress with a full, draping skirt. His silver tie matches my satin ribbon that wraps underneath my chest. He has jell in his hair, mine is done up in the back in a mass of curls with small fake diamond chains hanging half hidden from them.

Good news: we look fantastic and it's all because of me. Bad News: this dress and these hells are making it really hard to drive. Eventually I hit West Washington street, falling into an entourage of care that all turn onto La Salle, the road home to city hall. A chauffeur takes the keys and we don't get two feet inside when a wolf whistle stops with hackles raised, Jay's angry aurora instantly melts as Antonio and Atwater waltz up to us, a huge grin on both their faces.

I can see relief just under the happiness of Dawson's face. He was probably more afraid than I was that Jay wouldn't show up. I plant a smug smile on my features, intending on looking confident while scanning both men's appearance. You gotta give Intelligence one thing, we can definitely dress nice. Don't ever tell the guys that though. They're cocky enough.

"Shit Antonio. What are you wearing?"My grin widens at my boyfriend's teasing.

"Yeah Dawson, don't you know this is a black tie event? Jesus show some respect, put on something better than that!" Kevin laughs, giving my a high five before pulling me in for a more formal hug. Tony pulls Jay into a bro hug as well, only I can see him saying something in his friend's ear. They pull away from a moment, heads together then Jay nods, staring sincerely at Dawson who squeezes his shoulder before turning back towards us.

"Oh my, my, my, you are a site to rest eyes on Erin Lindsay." Jay and I both groan as one Adam Ruzek makes his presence known, Al and Hank behind him. The latter pointedly stares at him before giving me a hug, his long time friend gibbs slapping his rookie partner. As the two groups mesh into one we slowly make our way to the main ballroom, our entrance anything but spectacular although we are met with a bazillion smiling faces as Firehouse 51 comes to great us, follows by the people from Med. A huge body of law enforcement, paramedics, doctors, nurses, and firefighters moving from the doors to the bar and our designated tables.

I feel Halstead tense next to me, his hand entwining in mine, squeezing so hard it hurts, but I don't mind. If that's what he needs to stay grounded he can break my fingers if he has to. We drift around for an hour or so, sharing crazy stories with one another as the orchestra plays gentle melodies in the background. Voight doesn't so much as blink when I inform him neither of us are drinking tonight, instead letting a small smile play on his lips and bringing us a couple sodas from the bar. He does however, allow me to catch him a couple times eyeing Jay. It doesn't go unnoticed by him or Al or even Dawson how he refuses to leave my side the whole time, never saying many words if speaking at all.

Luckily the party is so loud and crowded none of the firefighters or medical persona notice, and if they do, they don't care to comment on it. About an hour passes, then we all take our seats as the Police commissioner, Fire Sargent, and Mayor all make their speeches. None take to long, and as the mayor wishes us a good night the main meal comes out on steaming plates, at least seventy waiters needed to bring all the food, and even then some return on a second trip.

Jay seems more calm at table that's just Intelligence, the noise level a lot lower as everyone eats. He actually releases my hand after I tease him about needing to hold my fork. Soon desert is coming out on platters, a fantastic chocolate cake (swear to god they planned it just for me) that I devore and then proceed to steal from Halstead. Not that he planned on eating it he was just stabbing it with his fork, but it still doesn't go unnoticed by the rest of the team.

Weird fact: as much as I love chocolate cake, Jay loves it a million times more. I have come over his apartment numerous times to find him staring at his oven waiting for one to be done. Ask him why and he'll just respond with a mouthful of the stuff and a barely discernable 'because it's delicious'. We often joke about it: the perfect match, a chocolate freak dating a bigger chocolate freak. Match made in chocolate heaven.

However right now I'm thinking it might have been a good thing he didn't eat it as he abruptly stands and walks off, making a beeline in the direction of the bathrooms. Everyone stares pointedly at me, all accept Kev who more stares at them, slightly confused. I don't know how much Atwater knows, but I am aware that Ruzek and Alvin told him _something_ about what happened.

Quietly I excuse myself and follow him, barging straight into the guy's room without a care. He is leaning against the marble counter, arms his supporters as he trembles, head down. Not making a sound I wrap my arms around one of his, resting my head on his shoulder and looking into the mirror.

"We can go home if you want." Shaking his head he lifts his face to look at mine in the glass before us.

"I just wish...I wish he was here. He should've been able to see this. To be a part of this."

"He would have been great at Med you know."

"I know." Turning towards the material him now, I gaze unabated at his face.

"He'd want you to be happy Jay. We both know moving on isn't forgetting...it's letting go. And if you ever want to be happy...you need to let go. All the anger, all the guilt, you gotta leave it behind." His head drops again, this time leaning towards me in comfort.

"It's hard." He whispers, voice full of too much pain to be put into words.

"I know. God Jay, you know I know. But you have to do it, you need to. You aren't leaving him behind, you're just changing. Who knows? Maybe...maybe you'll see him again one day." My throat progressively closes up as I speak, so that the last words come out choked and in through tears. Jay squeezes his eyes shut and envelope him in a hug, crushing him in an embrace so hard it's probably cutting off his air flow.

Because honestly I don't want Jay to see Will again, in the fear that it will be too soon that he does, that he'll leave me behind, leave me young and broken and that I will find myself repeating the words I have just said, only to myself over his grave.

I feel every silent sob that wracks his too thin body. I can almost imagine Will standing next to me, berating me for letting him get so skinny, then ragging on his brother for his poor self care.

'_Shit Jay, I know you're not used to thinking about yourself but eat every once in awhile okay?'_

I can practically hear the words, ones laced with anger to cover his worry. Just like I do. Just like all of Intelligence does when Jay gets hurt. As much as I love his bravery and courage, he's something like a trouble magnet because of it. Still, we are his family, and I'll be damned if we let him fall.

Slowly his sobs subside and I pull away from him, sniffling to keep my own tears at bay. Gently I cup his face with my hands, not breaking eye contact even when he looks at me, all shields broken and down, all his walls crumbled and gone, every emotion plain at day in his sea green eyes. Weird how they look almost blue with his outfit.

I wipe away a single tear on his face with my thumb as I hear music start up, notes that definetly come from a DJ not a band.

"Come on." I whisper. "We need to go and dance. And laugh. And maybe cry some more. But I am not doing that in the bathroom." His eyes keep staring, not so much as a blink.

"You need to show everybody your secret dance moves." I smile at the closely kept secret of his. Believe it or not, Jay is a tremendous dancer. Of course, none of the guys know that so what the hell. I take his hand in mine.

"Let's go have fun. And you can Will all about it when you see him again." Again my throat constricts, but then he leans down and kisses me hard, so much passion in it, it steals the breath from my lungs. Pulling back, stares at me with love, squeezing my hand, a low rumbling sentence exiting his mouth.

"One day."

* * *

**I actually got teary when writing this, and the last time I cried during entertainment was when I watched Million Dollar Baby. (phenomenal movie btw, go watch it)**

**So it might just be girl hormones. But still. Also sorry its short but the ending just seemed perfect to me.**

**Review and tell me what you think!**


	15. Purple Stain

**First off- it was totally hormones, because I re-watched Million Dollar Baby, and bawled my eyes out. Its really a great movie though, go watch it. **

**Also small note, there's a jump in here, it's not obvious, but we go from the bullpen to the deposition in a matter of a sentence.**

**Second-**

**IT FUCKING HAPPENED. GOD DAMN IT GUYS IT FUCKING HAPPENED. I HAVE OFFICIALLY FINISHED MY FIRST MULTI CHAP STORY! **

**AND WE BROKE 100 REVIEWS! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH RIGHT NOW YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND-!**

**No really all my readers are great. Absolutely fantastic. I couldn't have done any of this without you.**

**With out any more freak out, Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you, the epilogue and final chapter of **

**The Fall.**

* * *

**Erin's P.O.V.**

"Hey, He's back!" Adam's voice carried across the room, making everyone's heads pop up from their various positions across the floor. I watch, biting my lips in nervousness as Jay walks up the steps, quietly conversing with Mouse. Everyone stands, asserting their guy-ness in many a joke with him. I stay glued to my chair, tapping my pen against the open file before me, while shooting apprehensive glances at the center of attention.

Yes, he told me about a million times that he was ready. Same answer, all million times I asked him this morning. And last night. And the night before that.

No, I have yet to believe him.

I am still in my seat as Voight invites Jay and Al into his office, telling the rest of us to get back to work.

"We can do the hormone therapy later. Get back to work." Is all he says, just _looking_ at Jay who merely replies with a snarky "I'll just get my purse."

Then they are in his office, conversing about something, probably everything. It's not heated, but through the half closed blinds I can see from Halsteads body language that it's tough. So then they must be talking about whether or not he's ready. Just like I had asked Voight to do when I walked in early this morning, to agitated to do anything else.

It doesn't help that our deposition is today. All of us are to go, at noon, to the Department of Police Investigations, which is basically a mix between internal affairs and all the highest ranking officials of the Chicago Police Department. We are to sit in front of the police chief and his advisers as well as multiple IA agents while we recount the events and actions of the past month, starting from Will's death.

None of us are looking forward to it, and we are nowhere near the level of pain it'll cause Jay. Which is why for the past couple days we've been discreetly going over the story to tell them. Working out technicalities, feelings, cause and effects, legit excuses for actions. After all, the details are what make or break an undercover op.

The story is simple: We had made an agreement to meet for drinks after work one night. Jay didn't show, and no one wanted to be the one to awkwardly knock on his door. We were all slightly buzzed, so it made sense to get out of the bar anyway. On our way to the apartment, no one could answer raise Jay on his cell, so naturally we were slightly apprehensive. Upon arrival, we found the door slightly cracked, definitely wrong in our book.

Inside the apartment we found Halstead holding his dead brother's body. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood anywhere except for the Halstead. Jay was also injured, and in his confused state he ran after seeing us.

Jay Halstead disappeared from all known contact for nearly a week. I-_We_ all feared the worst.

Some time after the funeral for his brother, Jay came to talk to his sergeant at his home. For his physical and mental safety, the team agreed it better he stay with Voight rather than sit alone in his apartment staring at the blood stain where his brother died.

No, I don't know what happened during this week. No, he wasn't in contact with me. Yes, I understand the importance of his and our actions.

No. He wasn't in contact with me at any point during that week.

Yes Chief.

I am sure.

"And what happened after that?" Jerking my head up, I am startled by the jump in memory. Disoriented, I try to recall how I managed to go from staring at Hank's office to a conference room in the Striess Tower.

"Detective Lindsay?"

"What? I'm sorry could you repeat that?" The man at the other end of the black glossy table sighs, rolling his eyes in a rude gesture. Then again he's had almost the whole team before me, so really, at this point, he's tired of hearing the same exact story again and again. He probably just wants to get to Jay and go home.

It's partially why I'm so zoned out, this entire morning has been me trying and failing horribly to not worry about what will happen to Jay in here. My greatest fear is that they tear him apart, tear him down, and then our whole story falls apart, and Jay is right back where he started.

Broken. Nearly dead and Barely alive. No spark of his old self left.

"After you all made that decision...why exactly did almost _none_ of you show up to work for nearly three weeks?" I swallow hard, knowing this is the going to be the hardest part to sell.

"It was...we're team. A family. You need to understand that. So when Jay was recovering...we all wanted to be there for him. We all wanted to help him. And we needed time as well so...it just...it worked." I sit there, waiting to be crucified.

The asshole IA agent who's been grilling me all session glares at the chief as he releases me, telling me to send in "Detective Halstead."

I'm afraid for him, so fucking afraid, I can barely get the words out, jerking my thumb towards the doors as I exit them. With a sigh, he stands and passes me, muttering something about murdering every internal affairs officer that ever existed.

I mean honestly, the police chief has bigger shit to deal with in this city than dictate when we use our vacation time. But the agency flagged us for 'suspicious activity' or something. I guess when the entire team uses just about three years worth of vacation days at the same time, it raises some warning signs.

I sit heavily in a soft looking but hard cushioned leather chair. The rest of intelligence, all of them having stood when I walked out, sits with me. I harshly pull the elastic from my hair, slouching slightly as my hair rains down on my shoulder in an attempt to relieve some minuscule amount of my stress.

"How'd it go?" I push out a big breath through my lips.

"I think it was good." Alvin nods in acceptance of my answer. We both turn our gazes to the heavy black doors separating us from that dork of a guy that managed to worm his way into our hearts.

You wouldn't believe how annoyed we all were when he did that. See for a long while, we all liked to pretend he was just the annoying new kid. And then there was the first time we thought we lost him and well, it didn't go well.

It was back when Jules was still with us, so he had barely been here a month. We were clearing this building, a foster home that was horribly corrupt and abusive, and was, at the time, harboring a drug dealer who had been using the kids to transport product.

Naturally it was chaos when we entered, guns drawn, herding kids into a safe room, getting the not-so-nice caretakers on the ground. Jay went upstairs with a uniform, (before we had Atwater and Burgess, otherwise this probably wouldn't have happened.) Voight and Jules stayed on the ground floor once we had it controlled, so Al, Dawson, and I all sprinted up the stairs to assist him.

We reached the top of the stairs just in time to watch Jay turn and drop to one knee, dropping his head and clutching something to his chest right as a round of bullets sliced across his back. I remember staring wide eyed in horror as his body was pushed forward, knocking him flat on his stomach, where he laid, limp and unconscious, face turned to us.

Antonio ended up firing a couple shots, smacking the drug dealer in the chest. None of us gave a second thought to the dead man, all sprinting towards our fallen teammate. I don't know about the rest of them, but I surprised myself with the amount of fear I felt running those few feet, not knowing if my new partner was now a dead partner.

He wasn't-he had a vest on. But that didn't change the fact that he had been shot four times and was not only not responding to us, but was slipping into shock, body unable to recover from the trauma it had suddenly received.

However none of it was as emotionally taxing as what we discovered when we rolled him over. Jay couldn't breath, a harsh, constricted wheeze coming from him. So we rolled him over to get the vest off, hoping that would help. And as we turned him over, a small hand appeared first, gripping Halstead's Jacket. I had let out a cry as the full body of the child came into view. The little girl was sobbing, but refused to let go off him.

Nothing was more heart breaking than having to tear that girl off Jay's chest where she clung to him. He must have been running to get her when he saw the gunman, so naturally he protected her. But he still couldn't breath, and having the seventy pound body on his diaphragm wasn't helping. So despite her reasoning to stay-she kept repeating 'safe' over and over again while pressing her head against Jay's collarbone, trying to tuck herself closer to him-we still had to remove her from her perch.

She was screeching, a horrid wail of agony I didn't know could come from a nine year old. I brought her down to Jules as DCFS came in, along with more uniforms. We eventually found the one that was supposed to back up Jay in a puddle of blood in the back corner of the floor, multiple bullets across his body.

Alvin and Dawson had managed to rouse Jay, and he stood, shakily and drifting in and out of lucidity and consciousness, as they maneuvered him back down the stairs. It was ironic too, because no matter what he refused to go in an ambulance. A couple decisions were made and two minutes later I was sitting in the passenger seat of the Escalade, gripping the leather while keeping my eyes on him through the rear view mirror. Dawson was driving, Jules in the backseat, cradling Halstead's head in her lap as he mumbled incoherent nonsense.

It was actually more terrifying when he stopped talking, because it meant he was falling deeper into unconsciousness. Jules had screamed at her partner to hurry up, and by the time we arrived at the hospital, Halstead was almost gone. The staff at Lakeshore had moved quickly, maybe two hours later giving us an update. The crazy idiot was going to be fine, lest he throw himself into the path of a semiautomatic again.

In which case fate might be less kind, and allow one or more of those bullets to miss the vest.

I never let myself think about it, how much that day scared me. I could never fathom the idea that he was the reason I had let my walls down so quickly, so quietly. I always assumed that if I ever fell in love, it would be messy and horrible, and we'd both end up with more hurt than love. And the last part was almost true.

I give Jay all the credit in the world for managing to stick by me as I spiraled after Nadia's death. I never thought someone would do that for me.

I also never thought that I would fall in love with that dork, and yet, here I am, chewing my fingernails to stubs because I'm so nervous. Man, I wish I was a fly in that room right now. My phone buzzes with a text from Platt, asking how it's going.

"_I wish I knew.'_ I text back, quickly locking the device and standing as a woman in a designer dress opens the door. She says something in a sharp, clipped manner, that has everyone following her back into the room. I go with them, however unaware of what she said, my heart beating too loud in my ears. We enter, rounding a corner, to see Jay standing, face calm, though his demeanor is something more like exhausted.

He gives us all a slight nod as he buttons his suit, a minuscule gesture, but one that eases the knot in my heart, allowing me to breath properly again. That simple little nod told me everything. He's okay. We can get through this.

The lady speaks again.

"Sit."

We do, all of us with attitude, if one could be perceived to conveying attitude while simply _sitting._ Now that we know that Jay is okay, it seems as if all the anger for politics and the bullshit that it brings, comes to the forefront. Voight, Alvin, and Dawson in particular, have a spectacular hatred from Internal Affairs agents, so the looks sent to the one sitting at the end of the table, are not polite ones.

"Sergeant Voight. Despite the plethora of questionable actions committed by your team, I have found this hearing to be a success in lifting the fog that surrounded your motives for committing them. It is this committee's decision, that no disciplinary actions will be brought against you or the members of Intelligence. However, next time you feel the need to go off the books simply to care for a fellow officer, I urge you not too. Instead, how about simply fill for medical leave, and avoiding us another lengthy paperwork debacle. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir." The police chiefs nod their heads in agreement, all of intelligence breathing sighs of relief as we all get to keep our rank and our jobs.

"You are dismissed. I don't expect you be back in here anytime soon, Sargent. See to it that I'm right." Hank simply nods as we stand. I scoot up beside Jay as we exit the room, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze.

"You okay?" I mumble to him through the corner of my mouth. A rumbling hum of assent is my answer as we board the elevator to go down to the cars. Since we have the rest of the day off, Jay and I will be going back to the apartment, just as the rest of Intelligence will be returning to their homes.

Seated in the car, I twine my fingers through, sitting square with him in the back seat. The hump isn't comfortable, but I'm the shortest, and it allows me to lean my head on Jay's shoulder as Antonio pulls away from the curb. He presses his face to my hair, planting a kiss on my head. The action sings of love, and I'm snuggling closer to him before he can protest.

"We're okay." I whisper, bringing his hand to my mouth to hold it as gently as he nuzzles my hair. I'm trying hard to believe it, but something tells me I'm wrong. This isn't over. Not by a long shot. Swallowing past my doubt, I whisper the words again.

"We're okay."

* * *

**Striess Building. 14th floor. Conference room.**

"_Ah, agent Simmons. I've been awaiting your call. How did our friends fair in the trial?" The man swallows, not nearly as nervous as he should be considering the purring tone of his employer._

"_They had a story. A solid one. Command staff released them, no punishment." He glances around the empty room, double checking with a flit of the eyes that he's alone. "I tried, but the police chief was adamant. No suspension, not even a day." There's a pause on the other end of line._

"_No matter. Did you get it done?" The man's tone is harder now, but failures were never anything he tended to linger on, always preferring to move on to a different plan instead of dwell in anger. _

"_Everything's set. The second any Ranger steps foot in Chicago, we'll know about it." The internal affairs agent can practically hear the face of satisfaction his boss is making, if at all evident by the smoother change in tone as he replies._

"_Excellent. And what of Detective Halstead?"_

"_Oh don't worry about him. Our little test was a success. They gave us everything we need to know."_

"_That's not what I was concerned about." The double agent peers out the plate glass window separating him from the street below. He watches as the Detectives climb into their vehicles, focusing intently on one dark haired man in particular, phone still placed at his ear. He smirks._

"_Its taken care of."_

"_Jay Halstead still has no idea someone intentionally killed his brother. "_

* * *

**Dun, dun, duuuuuuuu. What'd you think of my little cliffy? Especially since this is the last chapter…*grins evilly.***

**So that served as a little teaser for I Am Intelligence, as it will definitely be addressed in that story. Hence, a slight reminder, that THIS IS THE PREQUEL FOR I AM INTELLIGENCE. **

**AND NOW ITS COMPLETE AAAAHHHHHHHH SO FUCKING HAPPY!**

**Review for me please? I want to see who loves me and who hates me right now.**


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